Broken
by Calico
Summary: Can Bruce Wayne find happiness & love, or is he destined to become a bitter old man? *Complete!*
1. Car Trouble

Title:  "Broken"

Author:  Calico calico321@yahoo.com 

Rating:  R, for language and sexual situations

Summary:  Almost twenty years went by between Bruce Wayne hanging up the mantle of the Bat and meeting Terry McGinnis, the new Batman.  How exactly did he spend that time?  This story is just a little 'what if' scenario set a few years after his last outing as Batman (as seen in 'Rebirth'), when he's just lost control of his company.  Life after Batman – Can Bruce find happiness, or love, or is he destined to become that bitter old man prowling the night alone.

My apologies to Terry fans; this one's just about the old man.  

Disclaimer:  Batman and related characters belong to DC Comics and Warner Brothers.  No copyright infringement intended.

_And I don't want the world to see me  
Cause I don't think that they'd understand  
When everything's made to be broken  
I just want you to know who I am  
  
_

Iris_,_ The Goo Goo Dolls

Car Trouble 

Gotham City, 2024

            A very agitated woman stood next to a run down car of a faded green color, it's rear left tire flat.  The rusty 1999 Honda had seen its best days long before the woman had purchased it, but for the most part it ran well and got her where she wanted to go.  Except for today.  Had she known the tire was about to blow she would have taken the bus, or spent her last twenty dollars on a cab, but of course hindsight is said to be twenty-twenty.  At the moment she was dressed in her best suit, tapping her sensible half-inch heeled shoe, and glancing at her watch to see her precious time draining away.

            Her interview was scheduled in fifteen minutes and the large corporate headquarters were a scant four blocks away.  Having been in Gotham for a little over a month without finding a job, she was desperate and was seriously considering hoofing it the remainder of the distance and letting the car deal with itself.  Of course she had managed to coast into a "No Parking" zone and was almost guaranteed a ticket, if not a tow.  She blew a huff of breath up to blow an errant strand of hair from her eyes.  In a fit of pique caused by the indecision she delivered an angered blow with her foot to the Honda's fender causing her more pain than the ancient vehicle.  

            "Need a hand?"  The deep masculine voice came from behind her and she yelped as she spun around to face the speaker.  The first thing that came to mind on laying her eyes on him was 'Wow.'  Tall and broad he seemed to fill up the entire sidewalk, blue eyes that accentuated a strong brow and a sensuous mouth above a firm, square jaw, but then she noticed his salt and pepper hair that was a lot more salt than pepper.

            "Thanks, but it's just a flat.  One of these days I'm going to have to learn how to fix them myself."  The last part was muttered to herself, but he picked up on it easily enough.

            "Maybe your husband should teach you how."

            "Uh, not married.  Anymore.  I'll be fine.  Thanks."  She smiled just to prove to him how fine she would be, hoping he'd get the hint.  He didn't.

            "The tire obviously isn't going to change itself.  Why don't you open your trunk so I can get out the spare."

            She blinked a few times and looked at her watch, finally sighing in exasperation.  The tire did have to be changed eventually.  "Sure, okay, whatever," she said and went to the rear of the vehicle to unlock it.  

            He easily lifted the spare out and laid it against the car then returned for the jack.  Twenty minutes later he was replacing it into the trunk and laying the useless tire atop.  With a slam he turned to face her.  "You'll need to get that repaired soon.  Your spare won't last very long, but it'll get you where you need to go."

            She checked her watch, knowing already what it would say.  "'Fraid not.  I needed to be there five minutes ago."  Realizing she'd actually spoken the words out loud she cringed and said, "Sorry.  I mean thank you, that was very kind."

            With narrowed eyes he asked, "Where are you supposed to be?"

            She waved him away.  "Nothing important.  Just a job interview.  I'm sure something else'll come along."

            "Where was the interview," he asked conversationally.

            "Wayne Enterprises, in their billing department."

            He smiled and she once again found her heart beat a little irregular.  "I happen to know a few people there.  How about I call and get you a new interview?"

            "Really that's not necessary.  You've done too much already.  I don't want to bother you further."  

            "It's not a bother, I'd really like to help."  He could see her wavering.  "Please?"

            She closed her eyes tightly for a moment and shook her head.  Looking back at him with a tight smile she said, "Sure, I guess it couldn't hurt.  Thanks.  Again."

            "Since you don't have any immediate plans, perhaps you could accompany me to lunch, and I can call from there?"

            Her entire posture stiffened and any hint of a smile fell from her face.  "Um, listen, Mr. ah…" she motioned with her hand, indicating she wanted his name.

            "Bruce, you can call me Bruce."

            "Right.  Listen Bruce, let's just forget this.  I actually do have a few things I can be doing."

            "I'd really appreciate the company."      She took a deep breath, prepared to be firm in her refusal, when her stomach growled noisily.  Her resolve completely shattered, she bowed her head and let the giggles come freely.  Low-blood sugar tended to make one dizzy.  "Shall we?"  He held an arm out to her.

            "My car.  It's in a tow-away zone.  I can't afford to get it out of hock."

            He nodded and reached into his pocket pulling out a small white business card and a pen.  After scratching a few words on the back of the card, he placed it under the windshield wiper.  "Now, any other obstacles?"

            She just rolled her eyes and smiled.

            He took her to a restaurant around the block that he had frequented for several years in the days that he had actually managed to make it in to work.  Having just come from signing over his life's work to Derek Powers, Bruce Wayne was not in a good mood, but the sight of the frustrated young woman had actually given him something to take his mind off of losing control of his company. 

            Glancing to his right at the lady in question he took in her physical appearance.  Shoulder length brown hair hung in soft curls and held out of her face by a headband.  Her eyes were green, but he had noticed as she got more upset they seemed to darken to almost brown.  The dove gray suit was nice, but he suspected second-hand.  Her age, he estimated to be late twenties to early thirties.  And she was hiding something.  The detective in him couldn't help but want to get to the bottom of the mystery she posed.

            Entering the restaurant, Bruce nodded to the maitre de who smiled back brilliantly.  "It's been far too long, sir.  Your usual table?"  He led the two people to a secluded area in the back and handed them menus.  "Your server will be along shortly.  Enjoy your meal."  With a slight bow, he moved off.

            Bruce eyed the young lady over the menu.  She frowned at her own for a moment and then closed it, setting it on the table in front of her.  "Problem?" he asked.

            "No.  No problem.  I'll just have a salad."

            "Watching your figure?" he asked dryly.

            "I happen to like salads.  And as a matter of fact I hear this place has a fantastic salad."

            "It's really okay for you to order anything you want.  It's on me."

            She smiled and nodded.  "Salad."

            The waiter arrived and Bruce gave him their orders.  When the waiter had departed, Bruce turned back to her.  "Do you think it's too presumptuous to ask your name?  Especially since you already know mine."

            Her head cocked to one side.  "My name's Mardi.  Mardi Purcell."

            "Mardi?"

            "It's French for Tuesday."

            "I know.  Unusual for a name."

            "Well, my folks _were_ kind of unusual.  Family legend says I was conceived on Mardi Gras."

            "And your middle name…?" he asked out of a perverse curiosity.

            With an impish grin, she replied, "Grace."

            He nodded in appreciation of the play on words.  "So are you close to your parents?"

She gave a slight shrug.  "They were part of the second wave of hippies in the nineties.  After I was born, they joined the Peace Corps and traveled around Asia and Africa trying to make a better world.  I lived with my grandmother.  I was supposed to join them when I was old enough."

            "What happened?" he asked.

            She had taken a piece of bread from the basket in the middle of the table and started pulling at it, popping a bite into her mouth.  She chewed for a second, and then swallowed.  "My mother contracted malaria.  They were so far into the jungle medical treatment wasn't readily available."  Another bite, chew, swallow.  She wasn't even looking at him anymore, just scanning the room and looking around at the other patrons.  "Her fever spiked and she died.  Dad came back and did the best he could for me.  My grandmother died when I was in junior high school so it was just the two of us.  I know he missed my mother terribly though." 

            "Do you still see him?"

            The waiter brought their meals and she picked up her fork lifting a piece of lettuce to see what was underneath.  "Artichokes?  Who puts artichokes in a salad?"  With a shrug she moved the offending pieces to the edge of the plate.  "My father?" she asked once they had begun to eat.  "A few years back he started forgetting things, really important things.  Alzheimer's you know." Her eyes darted up to his in fear that she had somehow offended him.  "I finally had to put him into a home.  I go to visit a few times a year, not that it does any good.  He doesn't know me from the nursing staff anymore."  

            "There are drugs that will help."

            He shook her head, slowly finishing a bite of her food.  "Drugs that have been tested on animals.  He's very much against that.  In one of his last lucid moments he made me promise never to allow the doctors to give him anything."

            "And you have no other family?"

            She frowned at him, but said, "No."

            "What about your husband?"

            Her fork made a clattering noise as it fell from her fingers onto the plate.  Bruce noted he was not mistaken before; her eyes immediately darkened from a lovely shade of green to a deep brown as she said, in a voice like crushed glass, "What about him?"

            "You mentioned you were married.  What happened?"

            "I don't see that as any of your business."  She pulled the napkin from her lap and dabbed her mouth with it, as an unconscious gesture to compose herself.  Then the tension seemed to seep out of her pores.  "It's nothing really.  He died in a car accident."

            "I'm very sorry to hear that," he said with sincerity.

            "Don't be.  It was over eight years ago.  We'd been married less than a year.  I hardly think about it anymore."  She stood.  "If you'll excuse me, I have to use the ladies' room."

            Bruce watched her as she walked towards the front of the restaurant, noting with objective pleasure the slight sway of her hips as she walked.  He was half expecting her to leave the building altogether, but saw with a surprised relief that instead of turning left towards the exit, she went right, to the rest rooms.  The waiter, seeing their meal finished, brought over the check, and Bruce took out his wallet, handing the young man a credit card.  He asked for a telephone, which was obtained right away.

            Punching in the numbers from memory, he asked to speak with the Director of Personnel.  When the call was answered, he said, "Joe, this is Bruce Wayne."

            "Mr. Wayne!  What a pleasant surprise.  It's been far too long.  I was sorry to hear you were stepping down."

            "It was time.  You can't be in control forever you know."

            "Perhaps, but you will be missed."

            "Thank you.  I was wondering if I could ask a favor of you?"

            "Anything.  Name it."

            "There was a young lady who had an interview today, in the billing department?"

            There was a sound of shuffling papers.  "There were a few.  Do you know her name?"

            "Purcell."

            "Ah, yes.  Never showed up, I'm afraid."

            "Well, that's the reason I'm calling.  You see, it was my fault she couldn't make it.  I'd consider it a personal favor if you could offer her another chance."

            "No problem, though there looks to be a few other strong candidates."

            "I'm not asking for any special consideration, just let her try."  Bruce saw Mardi weaving her way around the tables and quickly concluded his conversation as she sat down.  He smiled at her.  "How does tomorrow at eleven sound?"

            She blinked at him.  "The job?  You did it?"  He nodded and the smile she gave showed a face that was incredibly beautiful, if somehow weighted down by worry, presumably involving money.

            The waiter returned with Bruce's credit card and receipt, which he signed with an impatient hand, adding a generous tip.  Seeing it, the waiter said, "Thank you Mr. Wayne.  We hope to see you again," and turned to leave.

            "Wayne!" she shrieked, loud enough so that the young man jumped a little before moving on.  "Your name is Bruce Wayne?  _As in Wayne Enterprises_?  What kind of game are you playing?  Oh you don't just _know_ somebody – you own the whole damned company!"

            "Not anymore," he simply said.

            "Not anymore what?"

            "I no longer own the company.  Derek Powers has succeeded in buying up enough shares of Wayne Enterprises stock to take over.  When I met you this morning I was coming back from handing the keys over, so to speak."  He leaned forward.  "I didn't get you the job.  You'll have to do that for yourself.  Do you think you're up to it?"

            She bit her lower lip in uncertainty and embarrassment.   "I don't know," she said softly.

            "Well you'd better be.  I pride myself on being a good judge of character.  I'd rather not be proved wrong on this point."  He stood from his chair and straightened his suit jacket.  "I'll walk you back to your car."

            They walked the block and a half in silence.  She was visibly relieved to see the vehicle was still on the street.  She turned to him.  "Thank you.  For everything."

            "It was my pleasure.  Good luck on your interview."  He continued up the street and Mardi watched his departure with an odd mixture of relief and anxiety.  

            She turned to her car and saw the small white rectangle under the windshield wiper.  Gingerly she reached out and released it.  On the front side of the expensive cardstock in embossed letters read "Bruce Wayne, CEO, Wayne Enterprises."  She flipped it over and saw in distinct cursive handwriting, "Please send any fines directly to me."  He had included an address and telephone number, and signed his name at the bottom.  She shook her head and shoved the card into her handbag before getting into the car and driving home.


	2. Lilies, Daisies, and Roses - Oh my

Lilies, Daisies, and Roses – Oh My! 

            Monday morning, Mardi arrived to work thirty minutes early for orientation, and then was shown to her cubicle by the office manager, Mrs. Dupre.  A dozen desks, three groups of four and separated by partitions filled the area.  Mardi politely nodded to her cellmates before sitting down.  There was already a stack of paperwork for her to begin organizing and cataloguing.  

            The morning drifted by in a haze of numbers as she oriented herself to the filing system.  At quarter past eleven she leaned back in her chair to stretch her arms and back.  She was a little startled to here her name called out.  She peered over the partition to see a deliveryman standing at the front of the room holding an enormous bouquet of flowers.  Mrs. Dupre motioned impatiently for her to come forward.

            With a sense of dread she walked to the front and greeted the man, signing the delivery order and taking possession of the flowers.  She felt a dozen pairs of eyes on her as she returned to the desk with her new acquisition.  She took a few moments to admire the flowers after setting the heavy crystal vase down.  It was an exquisite arrangement: lilies, orchids, carnations, peonies, daisies.  Colorful and very expensive.  At the very top was a single purple rose.  She wasn't sure what purple signified, but her relief was overwhelming that it wasn't red.

            "You're a lucky gal," a voice came from behind her.  She turned to see the entire department had converged on her to gain witness of the present.  "Your husband?"

            "I'm not married," she replied absently.

            "Boyfriend?" another asked.

            She simply shook her head.  Whoever had ordered them had put a lot of thought and expense into the gift.  How could things get so screwy so fast?

            "Well, aren't you at least going to read the card," the no-nonsense voice of Mrs. Dupre rose over the heads of the other girls.

            With an imperceptible tremor in her hands, she reached over and plucked the small white envelope from the plastic three-pronged holder.  She slipped a finger under the flap and removed the card.  In contrast to the floral print, firm, distinct handwriting read, "Congratulations on the job.  I'm an excellent judge of character."  Mardi felt faint.

            "What on earth are you complaining about?  A man sends me flowers, I'm grinnin' ear to ear for a month.  What's the problem?"

            Mardi, who had her head stuck in the refrigerator looking for something edible for supper, turned to her roommate.  "The problem is this guy's more than a little creepy."

            "Creepy?  He fixed your car, bought you lunch, and made it possible for you to get a job.  If that's creepy I'll take it any day."

            "Jesse, you're not looking at the big picture.  I don't even know this guy.  He's rich and he's older.  What does he want with me?"

            "I think you're making mountains out of molehills.  So he sent you some flowers.  It probably took him all of five minutes to make a phone call and have them delivered.  You're reading too much into it."

            Mardi took some leftover pizza out and sniffed it.  Having passed the test she put it into the microwave and pressed a button.  "He picked them out himself."  She walked to her purse and pulled out the business card then reached in to pluck the card out of the flowers.  She set them side-by-side on the counter.  "See.  Same handwriting.  He went out of his way to pick these out and fill out the damn card."

            The other woman, tall, muscular, and dark-skinned with cropped hair, grinned at her.  "Well you got me beat there.  So what?  C'mon Mardi, have a little fun here.  You've got an admirer."

            "Have you seen this guy Jess?  He's older than dirt."

            "Some women find older men attractive; distinguished and experienced."

            "Decrepit and senile's more like it."

            " 'Me thinks the lady doth protest too much,'" Jesse teased.

            "Get your Harvard-educated ass out of my way before I kick it," Mardi muttered as she reached around behind the other woman for a plate.  Jesse had been born in the inner streets of Gotham, but through a well-earned scholarship sponsored by the Wayne Foundation had been able to attend the Ivy League college, earning a double major in English Literature and education.  She had returned to become a teacher in the very neighborhood she'd grown up in, accepting a fraction of the salary she deserved.  As a result Mardi had answered an ad to share the two-bedroom apartment and the woman had immediately invited her to move in that same day, saving her from spending the night in her car her first night in town.  In the six weeks that they'd lived together, Mardi felt she'd made the best friend of her entire life.  It would make it all the more painful when the time came to move on.  Although she had hoped to stay in Gotham for a while, perhaps getting lost among the millions of other desperate souls.

            Jesse patted her on the shoulder.  "Honey, since you've been here I haven't seen you so much as have coffee with a guy.  So what if he's a little long in the tooth.  It might be fun.  What's the harm?"

            "I'm not looking for fun, and I don't think he even knows the meaning of the word."

            "Your loss, but you still need to say thank you."  Mardi looked up, having just taken a bite from the slice of pizza.  Jesse removed the telephone from its place on the kitchen wall.  "I've been told some people still write thank you notes, but I think a phone call would be more personal."  Mardi was vigorously shaking her head as the phone was thrust into her hand.  "Do it," Jesse commanded as she walked out of the kitchen and into her own room.

            Mardi set the phone down on the counter and stared at it suspiciously as she finished her meal.  Chewing on the last bite of crust she reached across the counter and slid the business card over.  If anything could be said about her, it was not that she was impolite.

            Dialing the unlisted number, she held the phone to her ear and listened to the distant ringing, praying he had business elsewhere.  He answered on the fifth ring with a gruff, "Wayne Manor."

            "Mr. Wayne?  Uh, this is Mardi Purcell.  We met last week.  Had lunch?"

            "Yes, I remember you."  Mardi closed her eyes.  Why did his voice have to sound so damn sexy?

            "Right.  Well, anyway, I just wanted to call and say thank you.  For the flowers.  I got them today.  At work."  Silently she bashed her head against the wall.

            "The flowers?  Did you like them?"

            "They're beautiful, but way too extravagant.  You really didn't have to."

            "No I didn't.  But I wanted to."  Mardi felt her blood pressure rise.

            "Mr. Wayne, are you trying to pursue me?"

            "Should I be?"

            "This isn't a joke!  I'm serious."

            "I assure you, I never joke."

            "Well in that case consider this a polite, but firm…"

            "I don't think we should discuss this over the phone.  I have to attend a benefit gathering at the Botanical Society this Saturday evening to view the blooming of a very rare flower.  I expect it to be incredibly boring, and could use some company."

            "This is exactly what I'm talking about.  I don't really think it would be a good idea."  She drummed her fingers on the counter.  "And I imagine you would have plenty of high-society types that would be more your style."

            "True, but I was hoping for some intelligent conversation for a change."

            "Well that shows what you know.  I'm really a high-school dropout who can barely write her own name.  You'll have to look elsewhere."

            "Dropout?"  The question hung in the air.  "I have it on good authority that you not only graduated high school, but with honors, missing valedictorian by less than half a point.  You did drop out of college a semester shy of earning your bachelors in business management, which happened around the time you placed your father in the group home." 

            Mardi barely choked out a reply.  "How did you…?  You _are_ some kind of psycho stalker, aren't you?"

            "I simply like to be kept informed of the people around me.  Don't worry, I mean you no harm."

            "Sure that's what they all say.  Right before they scalp you."  She could almost hear him smiling, not because of what she said was particularly funny, but because he knew she wasn't really that angry.  Mardi reached up and rubbed her temple.

            _What's the matter, dear?  He seems nice enough._  Mardi's head shot up.  The voice of her grandmother sounded so real she involuntarily looked over her shoulder.  Assured she had not been visited by a ghost, she responded to the mental query.

            _He's like 100 years old._

_            Oh, stop being so melodramatic.  Besides age isn't anything but a number.  You're only as old as you feel._  Mardi mentally rolled her eyes at her grandmother's perky optimism.  Even after all these years it had left an indelible mark on her psyche.

            _He's just not my type,_ she attempted again.

            _Then why are you so frightened?  Is it you think he may be the one to make you finally forgive yourself?  You can lie to yourself, Mardi Grace, but you'll never be able to fool me._

            Mardi frowned.  Idly she glanced at her bedroom.  Mentally she estimated how long it would take her to pack a few essentials and hit the road, waving goodbye to Gotham City and her eccentric billionaires for good.

She was so engrossed in the inner debate, when the real live voice at the other end of the phone line asked, "Are you still there?" she jumped and almost cried out.

            "Of course I'm still here," she said testily, embarrassed at being caught daydreaming.  "Where else would I be?"

            "That's a relief," he said in smooth deep tones.  "I was afraid something had happened to you."  She could almost imagine a genuine concern in his voice.

            _Something has_.  "I was just thinking.  This Saturday, huh?  Well, as fate would have it, I happen to be free.  And I guess I owe you one, or several, I don't know."

            "Good.  Shall I pick you up around six?  We could have dinner before hand."

            "No!  You don't need to pick me up.  I'll just meet you there."

            "It really is no trouble…"

            "I said I'll meet you," she replied firmly.

            "Very well.  We'll meet at six in front of the Gotham Botanical Society.  You can choose where we eat this time if you'd like."

            "Super."  She felt like crawling out of her skin.  This was like skydiving without a parachute.

            "One last thing.  This will be a formal event.  Men in black tie, women in evening dress.  Will you have any trouble…?"

            "What do you think I am, some bag lady?  I've got it covered."

            "Till Saturday then."

            "Bye."

            The line went dead in her hand and Mardi fervently wished she could do the last ten minutes over.  There was a shriek to her left and she saw Jesse come out of her room, where she'd apparently been eavesdropping.  "Alright!  I knew you could do it!"  She came over and gave Mardi's shoulder a big squeeze.

            Mardi nodded, feeling slightly nauseous.  "There's just one problem."  Jesse cocked her head in question.  "I've got to find a formal evening dress."

            "I think I've got just the thing."


	3. A Night on the Town

A Night on the Town 

            Bruce hung up the phone and frowned at it.  He hadn't really expected her to accept.  He hadn't even expected her to call.

            He picked up a sheaf of papers on the desk before him.  A few phone calls had netted him with enough information about her to make him seriously question her motives.  She had held fourteen jobs in the last eight years.  All of her former employers proclaimed that she was hard working, considerate, and indispensable.  In almost every case she had left with little or no notice, often citing 'family emergency' as her reason for leaving.  Even so, every employer promised she would be hired back with no qualms.  He suspected she was running away from something or someone.  

After quitting college she had taken a job at an accounting firm, where she worked for almost five years, until she married one of the CPAs named Darren Shelbey.  Seven months later he was dead.

            Bruce pulled out the copy of the accident report and the death certificate that had been faxed to him.  The coroner's report stated death due to a severed spinal cord at the second vertebrae, findings consistent with the reported trauma caused by the two-person motor vehicle accident.  According to the statement of the police officer who first arrived at the scene, there was no evidence of driver error.   The driver was listed as Mardi Purcell Shelbey.  It was less than a month after the funeral that she had left the town she was born in, grew up in, and married in, and as far as he could tell, she had never been back.

            He sat back with a sigh and listened to the silence of the old house.  He almost expected Alfred to come through the door with a tray of tea.  But he was gone.  The emptiness of the house never bothered him in the course of his duties, but he was discovering that retirement was boring as hell.

            Shaking himself out of the reverie, he reached for the phone and dialed a number.  He waited – three rings, four – and then the call was answered.  "Major Crimes Unit.  Lt. Gordon speaking."

            "Barbara.  How are you?"

            "Bruce," the voice said after a moment.  "It's been a while.  How are you doing?"

            "I'm as well as can be expected.  I'd like you to do something for me."

            "What?" she asked, caution clearly in her voice.

            "I need you to check for a police record."

            "Why?"

            "Just to set my mind at ease."

            "Who is it?"

            "The name is Mardi Purcell."  He spelled both names and gave her date of birth and social security number.

            "Who is she?"  Barbara asked, but he could her the clicking of her computer keyboard in the background.

            "No one important."

            "Then why do you care if she has a record," Barbara retorted sharply.  "Is there something you're not telling me?  I know the last few years have been hard for you, but I may not be there next time if you do something foolish."

            He sighed.  "She's just somebody I've meet.  It's personal."  He sat back and listened to the distant noises of Gotham PD's finest at work.  Though their relationship had been strained at its best since she left both Batman and Bruce Wayne, he considered her a very special person.  After his final outing as the Batman, trying to save Bunny Vreeland, when the suit had become more of a burden than an asset, when he'd had to turn to a gun for self-protection as his body protested against his will, he'd somehow managed to return to the cave, chest tight and breath short. Barbara was the one person he could call.  She came and helped him out of the suit and upstairs where she stayed with him, holding his hand, as they waited for the ambulance.  When he came home from the hospital he closed up the batcave for good.  The time had come for the Dark Knight to retire.  But what was he if he wasn't Batman?

            "I've got something," she said.

            He leaned forward.  "What?"

            "When she was 21 she was arrested for shoplifting.  Apparently she was rushing a college sorority and that was one of the prerequisites.  All charges were dropped."

            "That's it?" 

            "Disappointed?  Yes that's it.  Listen, I heard the news about Powers.  I'm very sorry."

            "Don't be, it was bound to happen sooner or later.  He's been gunning for Wayne Enterprises for years."

            "You're taking care of yourself?"

            "Yes."

            "Don't stay cooped up in that house, Bruce.  It's not healthy."

            "As a matter of fact I have something going on this weekend."

            "Good.  While I have you on the phone, there's something I'd like to tell you.  I wanted you to be the first to know."  Her voice was hesitant.

            "I'm listening."

            "Sam has asked me to marry him."   Sam Young, the up and comer in the District Attorney's office, who Barbara had been seeing for the last year.  "Bruce?  Did you hear me?"

            "I'm very happy for you," he said.

            "There's more.  Since my dad, well, you know, since he's gone, I was hoping that maybe you would consider walking me down the isle.  If it's too uncomfortable for you, I'll understand."

            Bruce closed his eyes.  He wasn't certain he'd even want to attend the event, much less give the bride away.  It wasn't that he had any lingering feelings towards Barbara, but no man liked to see a former lover marry someone else; it was a matter of pride.  Clark and Lois' wedding had been bad enough, and Clark even had the gall to ask him to be best man.  This was almost too much for anyone to bear.  "I'd be honored Barbara.  When's the date?"

            "Oh it won't be for a year or two.  It'll take that long for us both to rearrange our schedules so we can have a proper honeymoon.

            "I'm worried about you," she said suddenly.

            "Why?"

            "I'm afraid…Oh never mind.  Just promise me you'll stay out of trouble."

            "Of course."

            "Stay in touch."

            He hung up the phone, realizing the evening had come, leaving him in darkness.  He sat alone at his desk in the night that he was most comfortable with, the tick of the grandfather clock keeping time with his own heartbeats.  After a while he feel asleep. 

            She was waiting on the steps of the Botanical Society building as he walked up the street.  She was wearing a full-length burgundy strapless dress made out of some iridescent material that brightened and darkened as she moved in the waning evening light.  Two inch black velvet heels adorned her feet and she wore a matching black velvet wrap to protect her exposed shoulders from the evening chill.  Her hair was styled expertly, sculpted around her face.  He thought she was wearing makeup, but not so much that it did no more than accentuate her features.  A teardrop diamond pendant hung around her throat with matching diamonds dangling from her ears.

            He paused twenty feet away and simply observed her as she nervously eyed the flow of pedestrian traffic before her.  Her eyes darted to and fro taking in every face that passed.  Looking for him, or on alert for someone else, some threat?  It didn't take long for her to finally spot him.  He closed the distance to join her.

            "Hi," she said first.

            "Hello," he replied.  "You look stunning."

            "You really think so?" she asked anxiously.  "This is my roommate's dress.  She wore it as a bride's maid in her sister's wedding."  She reached up to grab the upper bodice edge and gave it a firm shake.  "Unfortunately she fills it out much better than I do."

            "I think you fill it out perfectly," he replied quietly, hoping she didn't notice the catch in his breath.

            Grinning up at him, she said, "Thanks.  And you're not looking half bad yourself.  Something about men in tuxedos is terribly sexy."  As soon as the words left her mouth she blushed fiercely.

            Choosing to avoid replying, and therefore save a portion of her dignity, he said instead, "Where would you like to eat?  There is a restaurant over by…"

            "Right there," she interrupted him pointing to the end of the block.

            Following the direction of her finger he could see no eating establishment in view.  The Botanical Society's building and its accompanying gardens took up the entire block.  All he could see was a silver cart with an umbrella standing on the corner.

            "A hot dog stand?"

            "Sure, my treat.  Are you up for it, or has too much champagne and caviar spoiled your palate to life's basic pleasures?"

            "A hot dog is one of life's basic pleasures?" he asked skeptically.

            "You bet.  Let's go."  She took off down the steps and up the sidewalk.  Warily he followed.

            The vendor was in the process of taking down his stand for the evening as they walked up.  "Are we too late?" she asked and Bruce willed the man to say yes.

            "I got a couple left," the vendor replied.

            "Great.  Two please.  Catsup, mustard, and relish."  She turned to Bruce.  "We'll start you off easy.  Next time you can move onto the harder stuff, like chili."

            The vendor reached into his steamer and removed the last two hot dogs, adding the condiments as requested.  "That'll be eight dollars."

            Mardi reached into her bag and pulled out a ten.  "Keep the change."  She took one dog and handed the other to Bruce.  They drifted away from the cart.  She took a huge bite of hers while he eyed his suspiciously.  Dick and Tim had both eaten hot dogs on a regular basis, but Bruce had never found any desire to try them.

            "What's the matter?  Give it a try."  She went for a second bite and he could see a glob of the toppings hang precariously from the end.  She was an expert, though, and contorted her body at the last minute so it dropped harmlessly to the ground.

            Throwing caution to the wind he shoved one end into his mouth.  He savored the warm, saltiness of the meat mixed with the sweet and tangy contrast of the condiments, then swallowed.  For the first time in his life, Bruce Wayne discovered he liked hot dogs.

            Mardi watched in awe as he finished the entire thing in three more bites.  After he swallowed the last she asked, "Well?"

            "Not bad," he replied noncommittally.

            She reached up with a napkin and wiped his chin.  It was an automatic and innocent gesture, yet it sent a jolt of electricity through his entire body.  "You've got a spot of mustard," she explained softly.

            They threw their trash into a nearby receptacle and by silent consent began to walk down the sidewalk that ran along the perimeter of the gardens.

            "Were you ever married?" she asked after they'd fallen into step.

            "No, but I was engaged once."

            "What happened?"

            "Things just didn't work out."

            "And you never met anyone else you wanted to share your life with?"

            He paused before answering.  "There were several.  In the end my work always took priority.  I just couldn't have it both ways."

            "So you're all alone because you were a workaholic.  Was it worth it?  Any regrets?"

            "It's really not all that important."

            She shrugged, letting the topic drop.  After a few moments she asked hesitantly, "How old are you?"

            "How old are you?" he retorted, even though he knew the answer already.

            "I asked first."

            "58."

            "35."  She inhaled deeply, and then said, "That's almost 25 years difference."

            "I know."

            They had come to the end of the block and rounded the corner automatically.  Bruce realized they were now at the back of the gardens.  The street that lay on their right was little more than a service alley used for deliveries with very little traffic.  It was dark and isolated.  He frowned, his instincts crying out with foreboding.  He was about to suggest they turn around when a figure immerged from the shadows in front of them.  A young man, hair unkempt, clothes dirty and rumpled, holding a knife in one hand approached them.

            Bruce heard Mardi gasp in surprise and he attempted to pull her behind him.  "No way," the kid said.  "Give me your wallet.  And I'll be taking your jewelry too," he said motioning to Mardi's neck.

            Her hand flew up to cover the necklace.  "My father gave me these."

            "So you'd die to keep them?"   The mugger leaned forward, reaching out with the knife to illustrate his threat was not idle.

            The man was so focused on intimidating Mardi that Bruce easily reached out and grabbed the wrist that held the knife.  He gave a hard twist.  The sound of bone snapping was heard only seconds before the thief cried out in agony.  Bruce released the hand and watched the man crumple to the ground, the knife clattering harmlessly away.  "You broke my hand," he screeched, tears of pain running down his dirty cheeks.

            Bruce bent down towards him and said, "Consider yourself lucky.  I'd find another line of work if I were you."

            He turned and grasped Mardi by the upper arm, leading her back the way they had come.  He was angry and exhilarated at the same time.

            "You broke his hand!" she exclaimed.

            "Yes."

            "But how?  How on earth did you do that?"

            "I was just lucky."  

            She stopped, leaving him no option but to stop as well unless he wanted to drag her down the street by her arm.  "Lucky?  I think you can do better than that."

            "It's not important."

            "One of these days you're going to have to tell me what things _are_ important."  Her brows knit together and she reached up to pry his fingers away from her arm.  He could see the red marks they had left and realized in his determination to get her to safety he had hurt her.  By morning the marks would more than likely be black and blue.

            Instead of being angry, she gently took his hand in her own and began walking again.

            As they passed under the great arched doorway of the Botanical Society, with it's sculpted vines and blossoms, Mardi slipped her hand out of Bruce's grasp surreptitiously.  She didn't think it would be appropriate to show such a public display of affection, and she was fairly sure he would agree.  It was simply a matter of being the first to do it; pride goeth before a fall, Jesse would probably quote to her.

            Less than an hour had passed since she saw him overtly watching her from a distance, and her emotions were in turmoil.  She still couldn't believe she'd actually been bold enough to wipe the spot on his chin.  It had been such an intimate moment; his eyes boring into her had caused a flush of pleasant warmth.  Unconsciously she soothed the sore spot on her arm.  The ease with which he'd disarmed the mugger, the dark edge that seemed to settle in his voice, even the way he had looked at her when she questioned him – Mardi was certain there was a Bruce Wayne deep inside that few people got to see, perhaps dangerous.  Unfortunately that didn't dispel the feelings that were growing inside her.

            Yet now as she quietly walked among the crème de la crème of Gotham society, she saw something else.  His shoulders, still broad and well defined beneath the tailored tuxedo jacket, seemed slightly more rounded; his voice gained a lighter tone; and his face became more animated in conversation than she had ever seen.  This was a public persona if she'd ever seen one.  Drifting closer to him, she had to wonder to herself, which one is real?

            He was speaking to a short dowager with silver hair and an excessive amount of jewelry, nodding and smiling at everything the lady had to say.  Mardi was finding it increasingly difficult to keep her eyes off of him; she couldn't recall ever being so attracted to anyone in her life.  As she took a sip of her wine, he looked up and beckoned for her to join them.

            Holding his hand out, he said, "Mrs. Filmen, I'd like to introduce you to my date for this evening.  Mardi Purcell.  Mardi, this is Estella Filmen, chairwoman for the Society."

            "How do you do?" Mardi asked demurely with a smile.

            "I'm marvelous, my dear.  This handsome gentleman has just promised that the Wayne Foundation will match all the proceeds from tonight's gala.  That will more than cover the cost of renovating the balsa exhibit you know we were so desperate for.

            "Bruce, I just wanted to tell you how well you look.  How long has it been since your heart attack?  Almost three years isn't it?  I'm so glad you're taking better care of yourself.

            "Oh my there's Phillipa Durham.  I must say hello.  Will you excuse me please?"  Estella strode of if a swish of silks and lace.

            Aghast, Mardi turned to Bruce, who was still wearing an incongruous grin.  "You had a heart attack?"

            The grin faded to a slightly amused and much more natural looking smirk.  "A few years ago.  I'm fine now."

            Unconvinced, she continued.  "Oh my God!  You changed my tire that day.  And I made you eat a hot dog!  All that fat and processed meat.  God, what was I thinking?"

            He put a hand on her shoulder.  "I said I was fine.  Don't worry, you won't kill me."

            She knew he had said it in jest, but she felt the blood drain from her face all the same.  Her ears rang with the words, and she lost the feeling in her hands, the wine glass slipped unheeded on to the floor.  The crash caused many heads to turn their way, and she thought this might just be the time she'd discover what it felt like to faint.   A server came out of nowhere to clean up the spilled wine and shattered glass.  Bruce's arm went around her waist and he hurried her away from the murmuring crowd, leading her up a staircase to an unused upper level terrace that looked down onto the main floor.  It was darker up there, all the spotlights focusing on the floor below.

            Mardi moved to the terrace's rail and sat against it, affording herself a view of the festivities.  Servers bearing trays of hors d'oeuvres or champagne weaved their way through a sea of overdressed, bejeweled men and women, all awaiting the bloom of a single flower.

            She sensed Bruce's movements in the shadows as he came closer.  "I'm fine," she said.  He was silent.  He was close, so close she could almost feel the heat radiating from his body, but she didn't look up from the party scene.  Swallowing a lump in her throat, she said, "I killed my husband."

            "I doubt that," he said mildly.

            "Remember I told you he died in a car accident?  Well I was driving.  The police said it wasn't my fault, but they weren't there.  They don't know."  A hand gently gripped her shoulder.  "We were fighting, you see.  It seemed like all we ever did was fight.  We were newlyweds and I can't remember a single day that didn't end badly."  She paused for a breath, licking her lips.  "He was in a foul mood, and I was trying my best to ignore him.  I just wanted to get home.  Then he said something, I don't remember exactly what anymore, but it was one of those stupid things he said to get me going.  He couldn't stand having an argument without me.  It made me so mad I took my eyes off of the road, I looked at him to tell him," she dropped her head and looked at her hands, "To tell him what an asshole he was.

            "When I looked back at the road, there was a little girl.  She had chased a ball from her yard.  She was so close there was no time to brake, and I just turned the wheel as hard as I could.  I missed her, but we careened into the side of a garbage truck, you know the ones as big as tanks.  The impact was so hard I think I blacked out for a second.  He was killed instantly.  I broke my leg in two places.  I couldn't walk for a month."

            "And you ran away as soon as you could?"

            For the first time she looked up at him.  "I had to.  Don't you see?  Almost from the moment I said 'I do' I wanted to divorce him.  But I couldn't stand the idea that I'd failed at marriage.  I'd always looked down on people who couldn't be bothered to make their marriages work, I didn't want to be the same type of failure.  And all of a sudden I'm the grieving widow, able to go on with my life?  It was the answer to my prayers and it just wasn't fair.  I have these dreams sometimes, where I'm trapped in the car with him.  I can tell he's dead from the way his head is hanging limply, but somehow he manages to look up at me and says so sweetly, 'I hope you're happy now Mardi.  You're free.'"

            "So you keep moving, never staying in one place for very long, just in case you might actually find some of that happiness you don't think you deserve anymore?  Would he want you to keep punishing yourself over this?"

            "This isn't about him, not at all.  It's only about me."

            He was standing in front of her now, staring down with inscrutable eyes.  His hand came up and he gently pushed his fingers into her hair, cupping the back of her head.  Her scalp tingled and she shivered as he leaned in closer, finally laying his lips against hers.  She stiffened for a fraction of a second as he started to kiss her, and then allowed herself to relax.  She had one bright flash of thought – _He's old enough to be my father_ – before wrapping her arms around his neck and completely let her mind go blank, allowing the heat of passion course through her veins. 

            The shadows of the balcony hid them from the bustling activity below, but it could not shelter them from the sounds of applause and muted cheering that suddenly rose up.  They drew apart and looked down as the entire group surrounded the endangered plant that had been the entire reason for the gathering.  Mardi swallowed, her heart pounded in her chest.  "I guess we missed the big event."

            "I didn't miss anything."  He bent and kissed her again, though it did not resume with the same heat as before.  Pulling away from her, but not releasing the hold on her head, he said bluntly, "Come home with me tonight."

            She licked her lips.  In a husky, almost desperate voice, she said, "Only as long as we understand each other.  There's a - a tension that needs to be relieved, but nothing beyond that.  Tonight is what it is.  Agreed?"

            Instead of answering he took her hand and led her back down to the main floor.  Escaping, however, was easier said than done.  No less than a dozen people wanted to shake hands with Bruce and offer their sincere thanks for his charitable efforts.  He smiled, nodded, and made his excuses for early departure where possible.  Flying low on the radar, Mardi hovered at the outer edge and watched him slowly make his way towards her.  With a mind of its own, her body responded to every movement he made, every facial expression.  It seemed either supreme torture, or exquisite foreplay.  Finally they were able to collect their things and make their way out.  On the still busy sidewalk he looked at her and asked, "Where are you parked?"

            "I took a cab."

            Wordlessly he placed a hand on the small of her back and led her to his car.

            In what seemed like hours, they arrived at Wayne Manor.  Bruce unlocked the front door and allowed her to enter first.  A small lamp was lit at the end of the entranceway, but the rest of the house sat in murky dark.  As he removed her wrap she remarked, "Don't you have a butler, or something?"

            "I did up until ten years ago.  He died."

            "Why didn't you hire someone to replace him?"

            "No one could replace Alfred," he replied mournfully.

            "I see," she said, although she really couldn't understand.  "So you live in this gloomy museum all by yourself now?"

            A ghost of a smile appeared on his lips.  "Most people call it 'stately'."

            She stepped forward and drew her fingertips slowly down the lapels of his jacket.  Leaning forward conspiratorially, she whispered, "Most people are trying to kiss your ass."

            He wrapped his arms around her waist and began kissing her again, as she slid her hands beneath the jacket to feel the hard muscles of his chest.  He pulled her close and started to nuzzle her neck.  She cleared her throat.  "What do you call this part of the house we're standing in?"

            "The grand foyer," he responded against the soft skin of her throat.

            "Well as grand as it is, I don't think it's really appropriate for what's going to happen in about five minutes."  With a bemused look he turned and brought her up to the master bedroom.  A sudden attack of nerves caused Mardi to start questioning what they were doing.  He was sitting on the bed, the silver moon made the whole room glow.  Standing before him, she combed her fingers through his hair.  "It's been a long time; there hasn't been anyone since my husband died."

            "It's been considerably longer for me," he replied shortly.

            "Why?  Why now?  Why me?"  Her heart pounded erratically and her tongue seemed to have swollen to twice its normal size.

            He looked at her with narrowed eyes.  "Retirement has not been as satisfying as they lead you to believe."

            "Maybe you need to take up a hobby, like stamp collecting.  Think about your heart; this might not be such a good idea…oh my…"  He placed soft kisses along the top of her breasts, leaving a trail of gooseflesh in their path.

            His hands reached around and she heard the small ripping sound of the zipper being lowered.  "Shut up," he said gruffly.  And she did.  There were moans, sighs, and one brief cry, but she didn't say another word for the rest of the night.            


	4. Misery Loves Company-or does it?

Misery Loves Company…Or Does It? 

            The midmorning sun streamed through the open drapes causing her to moan in protest and roll into the pillow face first, a futile effort to reclaim the dream she'd been having.  For once it hadn't been about her dead husband, but a pleasant afternoon picnic with her father under a great oak tree, with sandwiches her grandmother had made.  But the damage was done and the dream faded back into her subconscious.  She rolled back over and opened her eyes.  The room was completely unfamiliar, the massive bed felt strange beneath her, and she was alone.  Moving slightly, the silk sheets whispered against bare skin.

            As the cobwebs of sleep were dispelled, memories took their place.  Her skin felt flushed as she remembered the previous evening's events.  In the seventeen years since losing her virginity on the eve of her high school graduation, she had never experienced anything like it.  He was single-minded and intensely diligent in his efforts to the point where she was not even certain he'd been aware of his surroundings.

            She peered over the edge of the bed to see Jesse's dress a crumpled heap on the floor.  Have to get it dry-cleaned now.  She balked at having to wear the garment again, it would be garish in the daylight, but figured it would be preferable to the alternative.  Flipping back the bed covers and swinging her legs over the side, she happened to notice a stack of clothes at the foot of the bed.  Not believing it to be a coincidence, she pulled the pile towards her.  On top was a sweatshirt with "Gotham City University" printed on the front.  Underneath was a matching pair of sweatpants.  She placed the shirt to her nose.  It smelled clean, but stale, as if it had been in storage for a long time.  They were much larger than she, but the pants had a drawstring she could tie to keep them from falling down around her ankles.  Mardi dressed quickly, and then availed herself of the master bathroom's facilities to wash her face and put her hair in some semblance of order.

            She paused at the bottom of the stairs, trying to get her bearings from the night before and wondering where Bruce might have gone.  Poking her head into the dining room she saw him sitting out on an adjoining deck, accessed through a pair of French doors.  He saw her and motioned for her to join him.  The patio set was wrought iron painted white with a glass tabletop and floral patterned cushions.  "Help yourself," he said, motioning to the array of breakfast items spread out before him.

            She took a piece of toast after sitting and spread a dollop of orange marmalade across it.  She accepted a cup of tea that he offered from a delicate china teapot, adding sugar and milk to it.  After a few moments of silence she asked casually, "Have you been up long?"

            "No.  I'm not really a morning person.  Did you sleep well?"

            "Yeah.  I must have been sleeping like the dead, I didn't even hear you get up."

            "I'm used to being quiet."

            "I guess I should thank you for the clothes.  Are they yours?"

            "No."

            "Will the owner be expecting them back?"

            "No."

            "You're a real chatterbox this morning."  He didn't answer and she looked over at the manicured lawn.  He must have a service come regularly to maintain it, she thought.  "How about giving me the ten cent tour before I go.  Maybe it will look more stately in the daylight."

            He took her around the estate and back into the house, allowing her to admire some of the artwork he had kept on display, although more and more of the rooms were being closed off, furniture covered with protective sheets, since one person had no use for so much.

            Passing through the parlor she looked up to a large portrait hanging above the fireplace.  A man and a woman stared down, smiling like a royal couple benevolently surveying their kingdom.  "Who are they?" she asked.

            "My parents."

            "The look nice."

            "They were."

            "What happened to them?"

            He was quiet for so long she thought he must not have heard her.  Then as she was about to repeat the question he said, "They were murdered by a two-bit thief right in front of me.  I was eight years old."

            She turned to him.  "That's so tragic.  I'm so sorry.  You must have been traumatized."

            "I survived.  It was the defining moment of my life."

            "How so?"  He stared at her.  "How did it define your life?"  His face was stone, she couldn't read anything from it, but really what did it matter? With a sigh of resignation she said, "I'll just go grab my things and call a cab."  She turned and headed towards the parlor door.

            "You're angry."  It wasn't a question.  It wasn't even an accusation.  It was more of an expectation.

            She whirled back around with a smile devoid of happiness.  "If I was any other woman then I probably would be; you've barely spoken to me this morning.  But I'm not really bothered by it.  We agreed last night would be what it was.  And maybe if I'd been any other woman I'd be a little upset that I confided my most painful secret to you at great personal expense and what do I get in return?

            "Yet I am not other women.  You can feel free to remain in your realm, alone by your own choosing, alone perhaps because of a tragic loss at a young age, or maybe because you're just not a nice person.  That loneliness is for you and you alone to keep close.  Let it continue to _define_ you.

            "I do have to wonder what about me drew you out.  I doubt it was my charming smile or witty repartee.  You sensed something in me.  I think deep down inside you're simply a broken little boy looking for someone as broken as he is."

            The silence that followed settled around them like a ton of bricks.  She dropped her eyes to the floor and resumed her exit from the room.

            "I'll drive you home."

            "That's not necessary.  You've done more than enough already."

            Stiffly she walked from the room.  Despite her assertion to the contrary, she was angry.  And the reasons for her anger greatly disturbed her.  Being with him last night had felt so right.  _All he'd have to do is ask you to stay and you would, in a heartbeat_, the small voice in the back of her mind taunted.  _No_! she cried out to herself.  _I can't want that, because he won't, and wanting what I can't have will be all that much worse_.

            She made it as far as the third step up to the second floor when an arm wrapped around her waist and hoisted her backwards.  She yelped as her feet briefly left the ground, and then came to a jarring stop against his massive chest.  He spun her around and held her firmly with one hand on each hip.  Having nowhere else to go, her hands settled gently on his forearms.  _Please, oh please_, she thought desperately.  _Please ask me to stay_.

            "You always have to have the last word don't you?"  She nodded dumbly.  "I said I'll drive you home and that's what I'm going to do."

            "If you insist," she replied tightly.

            "I do.  I'll wait here for you."  He released her.  She went back into the master bedroom to collect her belongings. 

            The dress was tucked under her arm and she hugged it like a talisman as she rejoined him.  There was no conversation during the drive other than the few monosyllabic directions she gave him to her apartment building.  He found a parking spot on the opposite side of the litter-strewn street and pulled to a stop.  Critically he surveyed the gray and run-down buildings, the dirty sidewalks, and the tired residents who regarded him with equal parts skepticism and distaste.

            "Thanks for the lift," Mardi said quietly as she opened the door.  "Keep in touch," she finished ironically.

            Ignoring the obvious sarcasm he joined her on the street.  "I'll escort you to your door."

            She briefly considered protesting, pointing out that in the twenty-first century women were capable of moving from point A to point B with little or no assistance, but gave up at the mere sight of his jaw so set and determined.  Slowly but surely she was learning this was not a man for whom 'no' was an acceptable answer.  "Whatever," she called over to him as she crossed the street, barely avoiding a speeding car.  He caught up with her as she entered the front door.  In the corner of the vestibule was a homeless man who acknowledged her by name, to which she responded with a nod and a smile.

            "The elevator's broken.  I'm on the fifteenth floor." 

            As they topped the fifteenth floor landing she found herself slightly winded and was momentarily concerned that he may have pushed himself too far, but looking back he wasn't even fazed by the exercise.  _What on earth must he have done to cause a heart attack?_, she thought to herself.  They walked the long hallway to her door, which was the last one on the left side.  The walls were thin and snatches of conversation could be heard coming from the neighboring apartments.

            "Well, this is it."

            "I don't like you living here.  It's not safe."

            "It's affordable and luckily for both of us you have no say in the matter."

            He looked at her intently.  "I could arrange for you to…"

            "No!" she stopped him with a raised finger.  "Never."

            "I didn't mean any offense."

            She nodded and held out her hand in what, she hoped, was a gracious gesture.  "Goodbye Bruce," she whispered.

            Instead of taking it, he cupped his hand behind her neck and bent down to deliver a kiss on her forehead.  It was simple and elegant and tender.  He released her and took a step back, face as impassive as before.  "You know how to reach me, if you need anything."  Then he was gone.

            Mardi retrieved her house key from her bag and let herself into the apartment.  Jesse, who was reading on the couch, leaped to her feet with a cry.  "Where on earth have you been?  I almost called the cops when you didn't come home last night."

            Mardi leaned back wearily against the door.  "Why didn't you?"

            "'Cause I figured you got lucky," Jesse replied with a smile.

            "So I could be dead in a gutter and no one would be looking for me because you assumed I was screwing some guy I just met?"  It came out a lot harsher than she intended and felt immediately remorseful when she saw the look on her friend's face.  She walked forward and plopped down on the couch, defeated and deflated.   "I'm sorry."

            Jesse sat next to her, draping her arm along the back.  "Well, where were you?"

            "I spent the night with him," Mardi replied miserably.

            "Was it that bad?  Sometimes when men get to a certain age things just don't work right anymore."

            Mardi looked up.  "Oh that was fine.  Better than fine, spectacular even."

            Jesse squealed and gave her a quick hug.  "That's great!  So when are you going to see him again?"

            "I'm not."  She stood up and unfolded the dress.  "I'll get this cleaned for you.  Thanks for letting me borrow it."  She moved off towards her bedroom.

            "Why not?"  Mardi turned.  "Why aren't you going to see him again?"

            "Jesse, do you know what they call women who go after rich, older men?  It's not pretty."

            "Who cares what other people think?  Do whatever makes you happy."

            "That just won't happen.  He couldn't possibly make me happy."   She reached for the doorknob and turned it.

            "You just plan on being alone and miserable for the rest of your life?  Why is it so hard to believe he could be the one to make you happy?"

            Stepping into the room she replied quietly, "Because he's just as miserable as I am."

            As she closed the door behind her she heard Jesse yell out, "Misery loves company!"


	5. Lost and Found

Lost And Found 

            He was walking on the treadmill in the small exercise room he'd created off of the kitchen.  There was no use for the training equipment downstairs anymore, which would probably kill him if he attempted to use it now.  _Maybe that wouldn't be such a bad thing_, he thought sourly, watching a small blue bird land in the giant maple tree just outside the window.

            Walking.  He was walking at a very firm, but sedate pace.  Once he could have run at twice that speed for hours.  Now he had to walk.  But it kept him occupied and fit.  Bruce Wayne would not let himself fall into laziness just because there was nothing else to do.  The whole of his future spread out before him, a void of nothingness.  Just how long could he reasonably expect to live?  "You're as strong as a horse Wayne," the doctor had said.  "I've seen men twenty years younger and not in as good shape.  You just keep an eye on that heart, moderate exercise and proper diet, and you'll live to a ripe old age yet."

            A ripe old age?  Impatiently he pressed the off button and the conveyer belt halted beneath his feet.  Wiping a hand across his forehead, he frowned.  Didn't even work up a sweat.  Time.  Time had turned into his greatest foe.  Of all the malignant, ruthless, deadly, and utterly insane opponents he'd come up against as the Bat, it was time that was going to kill him.  Time and his own damn heart.

            "Fuck," he muttered, slipping on a pair of sparing gloves.  He was in a fowl mood.  Had been since Sunday evening.  Maybe not having other people underfoot anymore was a good thing.  He could wander from room to room and vent his temper without so much as a raised eyebrow.  Then again, anger wasn't good for the heart, was it?

            A large, stuffed canvas bag hung from the ceiling.  He swung at it and landed a solid punch, the bag swayed slightly on its chain.  A couple more jabs, then and uppercut.  The topmost link in the chain squeaked melodically on the eyebolt in contrast to the dull thuds of the punches.

            She'd left.  They all did eventually.  Of course he did nothing to encourage her to stay.  He closed his eyes and gave the bag a solid smack that he felt deep in his chest.  After all this time it shouldn't matter anymore.  He'd made his proverbial bed, and he was content to lie in it, alone, for the rest of his days.  What was it she said?  "A broken little boy."  Bam, bam!  The bag swung even harder.  She'd known him for twenty-four hours and she was psychoanalyzing him.  Ridiculous.  Then why the hell did it bother him so much?  Because it was so familiar.

            Fifteen years ago, there'd been a break-in at an upscale jewelry shop and a sapphire necklace with a perfect oblong flaw in its center, giving it the name 'cat's eye', had been stolen.  It was completely obvious who the culprit had been, and Batman had spent the better part of the evening chasing her.  She would let him get close and then slip away with a wink and a laugh.  For hours they hopped building to building, swinging along the urban jungle in a dark parody of the Edgar Rice Burroughs character.  It was a slow crime night and Batgirl was patrolling, so he was able to devote himself to the pursuit entirely.  And let's be honest, it was not entirely unpleasant.  Then she stopped, waited for him atop the Greater Gotham Fidelity Building, just standing there, an easy smile on her face and a hand held out with the necklace dangling from one dainty cat claw.

            He paused as he landed and regarded her skeptically.  "Catwoman," he said, wary for a trap.  While Selina Kyle played solo, she was not averse to teaming up with others if it suited her needs.

            "Go on Batman," she purred.  "Take it."  He didn't take a step, and she sighed in resignation.  "What's the matter Bats?  Afraid of a little pussy?"

            "Are you turning yourself in Selina?" he asked, attempting menacing while her whip swayed casually from her free hand.

            "No, Batman.  I just wanted to give you a little something to remember me by, and to say farewell.  I'm leaving Gotham.  Tonight."

            "Leaving?  Where to?"

            Something flickered across the beautiful thief's face, a longing perhaps.  "Batman, if I honestly thought you'd follow me, I'd tell you in a second, but frankly I don't feel like putting myself through years of wondering, 'Is today the day he's going to show up?', but knowing good and well you won't."  She licked her ruby lips and rolled her head in a stretch.  "It's been fun, Bats, but I don't think you're capable, even if you're willing, of taking it to the next level.  Did mommy not hold you enough as a baby?"  She shrugged a shoulder.  "Whatever the reason, you're stuck in the play yard where the little boys punch the little girls as their only display of affection.  Outside you may be all grown up, but inside you're still a baby bat.  Pity," she drawled.  She flicked her finger and the necklace sailed through the air towards him in a slow arc.  He reached up and grabbed it in an instant, and at the same time she leapt over the other side of the building.

            There was absolutely no sign of her as he leaned over the edge.  He spent the rest of the night trying to track her, starting with her apartment, which was completely empty.  He could find no evidence of where she'd gone or how she'd even left Gotham.  She had utterly vanished.  In the months and years to come he would find no record of Selina Kyle or any crime fitting Catwoman's MO in any of the hundreds of databases he had access to.

            The storeowner later received a large, anonymous, payment for the necklace, which was stored in a box at the bottom of his closet.

            But that night, still reeling from Catwoman's less than flattering comments, he'd entered the Batcave to find Barbara sitting at the computer console, filing her reports for the evening.  She had turned to him and smiled a greeting.  To this day Bruce couldn't say completely what caused him to do it, and he would certainly regret it much later.  Removing the cowl, he had silently walked over to her, pulled her into his arms, and started kissing her.  Barbara had been momentarily stunned by unexpected display, but gave in nonetheless.  He could only speculate as to why, but he was reasonably certain she was still hurting over Dick's departure.  

            The affair lasted until she finally decided that fighting crime was better off done on the side of the law.  She wanted to follow in her father's footsteps.  She wanted a normal life.  There were surprisingly few words, angry or otherwise when she left.  Alfred had wished her well and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek before departing for the kitchen.  They had stood there, in his study, looking at each other, and she confided to him, "I'm afraid of what's going to happen to you, now that you're all alone."

            "I started out alone.  I'll manage."

            Then she was gone.  And he had felt nothing but a guilty relief.

            But that was the past.  He finished up with the punching bag, feeling the workout in his hands, and shoulders, and chest.  He was breathing hard and his knuckles were sore, but that didn't seem to alleviate the problem.  After a shower and a change of clothes he went into his study.  On the blotter, in a perfect circle, was a diamond necklace, and in the center lay two earrings.  He'd found them Monday and they had been sitting here every since.  He was undecided about what to do with them.  He knew he had to return them, but how?  A messenger would be too impersonal, yet he didn't want to invade her privacy by showing up at her doorstep either. 

            "This is ridiculous," he muttered and swept the jewelry off of the desk impatiently.

            "Mardi?  Mardi!  Are you deaf!"

            She looked up to see her cube-mate leaning over the partition.  "What?"

            "They've been paging you down to the lobby for fifteen minutes."  The blonde, whose name was Gerty, narrowed her eyes.  "Hey, are you feeling okay?  You've been spacey all week, and you really don't look so good."

            "I'm fine, I just haven't been getting a lot of sleep.  The lobby?  What would they want with me down there?"

            "I wouldn't know, but can you please get down there so they stop calling your name?"  Gerty huffed and sat back down to her desk

            She pushed herself away from the desk, the invoice before her had been sitting there for over an hour.  Spacey?  That wasn't the half of it.  If she didn't get her butt in gear she'd be out of a job for sure.

            Nodding to Mrs. Dupre, she walked over to the elevator bank and depressed the down arrow.  Soon the light ding informed her the car was waiting and the doors opened.  She entered and selected the lobby.  Slowly she descended thirty-five floors.  As usual her mind was wandering elsewhere, and when the doors opened she walked forward automatically.  "Excuse me!" a large voice boomed before her, and she looked up in time to see the man she was about to run into stare down at her venomously.

            "Sorry," she muttered, going around the man.  He and another man boarded the elevator car.

            As the doors closed, she heard him say, "Send a note to personnel, I want a more stringent hiring policy.  No more of these mental slackers."    Mardi turned and got one last glance at the man.  He seemed familiar.  Then it hit her, the large photograph she passed under everyday – CEO of Wayne-Powers, Derek Powers.  _Just great_, she thought, _piss off the boss why don't you._

            Mardi walked up to the reception kiosk, and asked the young woman, "I'm Mardi Purcell, and I believe I was paged to come down here?"

            A small device sat in the receptionist's ear, with a thin wire curling down in front of her mouth.  It was into this she spoke.  "Wayne-Powers, can you hold please.  Wayne-Powers, how may I direct your call?  One moment I'll transfer you.  Thank you for holding.  No, he's not available, but I'll put you through to his secretary.  Wayne-Powers, how may I direct your call?  No, we don't do that.  No sir, you'll have to call your plumber.  Good day.  Wayne-Powers, how may I direct your call?…."  Mardi tapped the desk in front of the girl, and without a pause in her speech she pointed behind Mardi.

            Mardi opened her mouth to ask a question when the receptionist pointed again, more emphatically, and raised her eyebrows in punctuation.  With a sigh she turned and the sigh died on her lips.

            He stood thirty feet away surrounded by fern plants, arms crossed over his chest, just watching her.  Her feet moved her forward until she stood before him.

            "Hi," she said uncertainly.  "What are you doing here?"

            He reached into an inside jacket pocket and removed the diamonds.  "You left these on the bed table."

            "Oh wow," she said in relief.  "I was afraid I'd never see them again.  Thank you."

            "You could have called," he pointed out.

            _Right,_ she thought.  _Calling about lost jewelry is the oldest trick in the book._  Out loud she responded, "Yeah, I guess I should have.  But you really didn't have to bring them yourself."

            "It was no trouble.  I needed an excuse to get out of the house anyway.  Boredom's going to drive me crazy."

            "Maybe you should get a dog.  Or even a goldfish.  I hear they're hours of entertainment."  She smirked at him.

            He ignored her attempt at levity and said somberly, "I was afraid you'd left town already."

            She hitched a shoulder indifferently.  "Well I've got this great job, and I like my roommate an awful lot.  Plus Gotham's really an interesting place to live.  Did you know that there was a guy who used to dress up in a crazy bat costume and helped the police catch criminals?"

            "Batman?" he said casually.  "I've heard something about him."

            "Where do people like that come from?"

            He was saved from answering as a group of businessmen and –women entered the lobby and walked past, speaking in hurried but hushed tones.  When the group was gone they looked back at each other.  "Have dinner with me tonight," he said.

            She swallowed hard.  There was zero chance of it being strictly dinner; she knew this because at the moment she felt as if she'd implode if he so much as touched her.  "We had an agreement."

            "I didn't agree to anything," he pointed out.

            She opened her mouth in disbelief, and then said, "_Qui tacet, consentaire videtur._"

            His lips twitched in a smile.  "Silence is consent.  Impressive."

            "I had a semester of business law.  But I'm serious.  What will people say?"

            "They'll simply assume I'm up to my old tricks," he replied dryly.

            She let that comment pass without question, but filed it away for future consideration.  Instead she asked, "And what about my reputation?"

            "I wasn't aware you were going to stay in town long enough to gain a reputation."

            "That was dirty," she replied quietly.

            "I play dirty sometimes.  I'll be waiting at the same restaurant we had lunch in, at six o'clock this evening.  If you come, we'll take it from there.  If you don't, then I wish you all the best."  He turned and walked out the door, leaving her fairly shaking with emotion.

            On her way back to the elevators, the receptionist yelled out, in a rare break from phone calls, "Nice rocks."

            Mardi looked up at her.  "What?"

            "The jewelry.  Your man's got good taste.  I'm surprised you still bother to work.  Won't he set you up?"

            "These were a graduation present from my father.  He was just returning them to me," Mardi replied with a bad taste in her mouth.

            "Oh, whatever."  Her eyes shifted as another call came in.  "Wayne-Powers, how may I direct your call?…"

            Mardi stuffed the jewelry into her blazer pocket and continued back up to her desk, feeling a distinct and powerful impulse to hurl herself out the nearest window.


	6. A Picture's Worth a Thousand Words

A Picture's Worth A Thousand Words 

            She checked her watch for the fifth time in as many minutes.  5:40.  She had less than twenty minutes to decide whether to go forward or continue to run away.

            The decision was made all the more complicated by the news article that was currently viewed on the computer monitor.  Most of the overhead lights were extinguished with the departure of the last of her co-workers shortly after the end of the workday at five.  She'd stayed behind, now sitting alone in the soft glow of the screen and utilized Wayne-Powers' resources to seek out a little information about the man waiting to have dinner with her.  _Just dinner,_ she reminded herself.

            The search engine had collected literally thousands of news bites mentioning the name Bruce Wayne.  She'd narrowed down the search by eliminating strictly financial news, but she was still daunted by the shear volume written about him, though the frequency had tapered off in the last decade.

            There were accounts of his charitable contributions, his new yachts, his golf game, even discussions about the cut of his suit, but without a doubt the greatest interest seemed to be his social life.  And an active social life it was.  Picture upon picture of women – blondes, brunettes, redheads – draped on his arm arriving at this event or leaving that one.  They all shared one important common denominator: they were glamorous, gorgeous, and dazzling beyond imagination.  These were women from affluent families and rich gene pools.  In comparison Mardi felt pale and dowdy, a lump of coal to their gleaming diamonds.

            She'd waded through dozens of reports when she'd finally found the one she'd been staring at for a solid ten minutes.  _Bruce Wayne Escorts Van Stratton Twins To Brinkstone Gala._  In full color he smiled into the camera flanked on each side by identical blondes dressed in form-fitting gowns, one gold and one silver.  According to the society gossip Bruce could not possibly choose between the two lovely girls, whose names were Buffy and Muffy, and had conceded to bring them both, which the twins were more than happy to oblige.  However, once inside the party, Bruce was reported as not only being unable to tell the two apart, but constantly referred to them as Bitsy and Misty.  To add injury to insult, Bruce apparently disappeared for several hours, his whereabouts unaccounted for, though the reporter speculated that he was quite possibly passing time with Selina Kyle, the notorious and beautiful sometime cat burglar, whom he'd been seen in the company of on several previous occasions.  By the time he had reappeared, suspiciously mussed, the twins had promptly dumped their drinks over his head and fled the scene with a pair of sympathetic bachelors.

            She could not tear her eyes away from the picture.  This could not be the same man.  The hair was a rich black, the face a little more lean, but the eyes, so blue and direct, were the same and the body, built as if for an Olympic god, was unmistakable.  The smile and the easy posture, both seemed alien to the serious and rigid person she thought she knew, although, she reminded herself, she'd seen that smile once before in a not dissimilar situation.

            She huffed.  _Workaholic, my ass_, she thought.  He was too busy to settle down all right; too busy hopping from woman to woman.  The man of character she had believed him to be turned out to actually be a philandering, self-centered reprobate.  How could she have misjudged him so badly?

            A squeak caught her attention and she peered around the edge of her partitioned wall.  The night janitor was making his rounds, collecting trash in a large wheeled bin.  She sighed and checked her watch again.  5:45.  Five blocks to the restaurant.  

            "Oh, I didn't know there'd be anyone around."  She turned to see the janitor standing behind her.

            "I won't be long."

            "Take your time.  But it's about suppertime.  You should go get yourself a bite to eat."

            "Yeah," she said wearily.  "I'm supposed to be meeting someone at six." 

            "A date?"

            "I suppose it would be," she replied distractedly.  The Van Stratton twins looked on from the past, smiling at her like a pair of Barbie dolls. 

            "Don't you want to go?"

            "Hmm?"  She looked up.  The janitor was still standing there.

            "You don't seem too interested in your date.  Don't you like the guy?"

            "Like?  Yeah, I like him.  Too much probably."

            "And he must like you, if he asked you out, I mean."

            "Sure, you could say that."

            "Then what are you waiting for?"

            She was almost five minutes late.  He saw her brush past the maitre d', who gave a shout of protest, and stride defiantly across the main floor towards his semi-private table.  Her face was flushed, beads of sweat dotted her forehead causing her hair to curl into damp ringlets, and she was audibly huffing for breath as she flung herself into the chair across from him.  Her arrival was a spectacle viewed by many of the restaurant's patrons, but at least she'd arrived.

            A nod to the maitre d' sent him back to his post and another brought the waiter, who set plates before them.  "I took the liberty of ordering ahead of time," he explained to her.

            "A salad?" she asked breathily, looking down at her own plate.

            "I wasn't sure what else you'd like.  You can have something else…"

            "I run five blocks to get here, I'm not eating a lousy salad.  Take this back," she pushed the plate at the waiter.  "Bring me a porterhouse steak, couple inches thick.  Well-done.  And don't forget the baked potato."

            "Yes ma'am."

            As he turned away she called out, "Wait, I'm starving, you'd better make it medium rare."  He nodded.  "Wait!  That'll still take too long.  Just tell them to sear it on each side and we'll call it even."

            "Very well ma'am," the waiter replied nonplussed.  Bruce handed him his own plate with instructions to have it brought back when hers was ready.  "Yes, sir," he replied and carried the two plates back to the kitchen.

            When Bruce looked back at her, Mardi was gulping down her glass of water, two rivulets trailing down from the corners of her mouth.  When the glass was emptied, she wiped her mouth on the back of her hand and then gestured to his side of the table.  "You going to drink that?"

            "Help yourself," he replied and handed her the glass.  "Why were you running?"

            She downed half the water and placed the glass on the table, licking the corner of her mouth.  "I was late getting out.  Busy doing research."

            "I wasn't aware doing research was part of your job."

            "It's not.  I wasn't working.  I was doing research on _you_, Mr. Wayne."  Bruce sat, his face totally neutral, waiting for the inevitable.  If he'd had any illusions that having not been born in Gotham she wouldn't have any preconceived notions about him and he could somehow make a clean start, they were immediately dashed.  The bachelor life of Bruce Wayne was the stuff of legends and it was an unavoidable fact that she'd eventually learn all about it.  

She was looking at him, hoping for a reaction, but getting none, so she continued.  "They say a picture's worth a thousand words, but I think that's a gross underestimation.  I don't suppose the names Buffy and Muffy Van Stratton ring a bell.  No?  I'm not really surprised.  They're just a drop in the bucket.  One report postulated that you'd dated more than half the eligible female population of Gotham at one point."  Her voice had risen, became more strident as she'd spoken, and a few diners were surreptitiously glancing towards the table.  "A different woman every night practically.  You were quite the Don Juan.  I don't know how you even had time to run a company."  She paused and looked at him expectantly.  "Aren't going to say anything in your own defense?  Are you going to just sit there and let me believe all these things I read about you?  Tell me that it isn't what it looks like or an alien death ray was controlling you.    Anything, just don't let me feel like I'm the latest in a long line of bimbos."

            He calmly replied, "Would some excuse change the way you feel?"

            Giving the question serious consideration, she replied slowly, "No.  It wouldn't."  Then she lowered her head to stare at her hands clasped together in her lap.

            Bruce felt an overwhelmingly defeated.  It was more than the fact that she was the first woman to interest him in over a decade.  She did not have the curvaceous charm of Selina, or the exotic sultriness of Talia, or even the fiery innocence of Barbara; she lacked Lois' drive or Andrea's rage; she wasn't a criminal, the daughter of a demonic megalomaniac, or anything else beyond the ordinary; she had no magical tendencies or supernatural abilities.  She was not interested in financial gain or world domination.  She was the first truly normal woman he hadn't needed to pretend to be something he was not.  She saw him, not as the air-headed, rich playboy, not even as the unyielding, dark Bat, but as the person he truly was.

            And he had hurt her, not by what he was, but by what he wasn't.  How could he explain to her that what she had read about was nothing more than an airbrushed version of himself, a cartoon caricature to deflect any prying eyes from the more dangerous truth?

            Now he saw that she was crying.  Her head bobbed slowly, her shoulders hitched in sobs.  He groaned inwardly.  Nothing was worse than a woman crying, except a woman crying because of something he had done.  What comfort could he offer, what condolences?

            The sobbing became more audible as she raised her head.  He saw her eyes were tinged with moisture, her cheeks were more flushed than before and her mouth was stretched into a…huge smile?  What he had mistaken for weeping was actually choked laughter, growing stronger by the moment, from soft giggles to full-blown chuckles.  She reached up and wiped a stray tear that squeezed from her eyes, mouth open in helpless hilarity.  "B-buffy and M-muffy?" she burst out between gasps of breath.  "What the hell were you thinking?  I've seen more intelligent pairs of pants."  The last sent her into an uncontrollable fit the likes he had only seen in victims of the Joker's poison.  One hand slammed the table while the other held her stomach, her head thrown back as the laughter shook her.  She gasped for breath and seemed to take herself under control, subsiding into weak giggles as the waiter returned with their food.

            He set the plates before them, eyeing Mardi much as a rabbit would eye a fox, and then turned to Bruce.  "Is there anything else I can get you, sir?"

            "A straightjacket for my friend?" Bruce suggested mildly, sending Mardi into further peals of laughter.

            The waiter looked aghast at the request, face pale.  "Sir?"

            "Never mind," Bruce dismissed him.  "That will be all."  Gratefully the waiter made himself scarce.  "Are you going to be alright?"

            She nodded vigorously, taking deep, cleansing breaths, and a sip of water to compose herself.  Finally she looked up at him, a grin spread on her face.  "Well I know one thing for certain."

            "What's that?"

            "Your taste in women has improved immensely."  She took up her fork and knife and dove voraciously into her meal.

            "That it has," he quietly agreed.

            They ate quietly for a while, and then she placed her utensils on her plate, clasping her hands in front of her.  "I said some pretty terrible things to you, back at your house, that I need to apologize for," she started quietly.

            "You weren't exactly wrong."

            She looked at him curiously, and then continued.  "Nonetheless, it wasn't my place.  But I need to be brutally honest about one thing.  I don't believe a relationship between us has any chance for success.  There's the difference in age as well as class."  She shook her head.

            "Class?" he asked, slightly amused.

            "Yeah, class.  You know, like you live in a great big mansion that even has its own name and I'm two paychecks away from living in my car."

            "And?" he prompted.

            "And nothing.  I just wanted to get that out in the open so that when this thing blows up in our faces I can have a big I-told-you-so.  In the meantime, I suggest we get out of here before I come to my senses and realize I have gone completely insane." 

            He wasted little time on inner debate.  Turning, he raised a finger.  "Check please!"


	7. Waffles, and Other Important Life Lesson...

Waffles, And Other Important Life Lessons 

            She awoke the next morning to find him sitting next to her on the bed, already dressed.  "Hey," she said sleepily.

            "Good morning," he replied.

            "What time is it," she asked suddenly, noting the sun was already high above the horizon.

            "Ten minutes past nine."

            "Good lord," she moaned.  "I'm supposed to be at work right now."

            They stared at each other for a second until he responded.  "Maybe you should call in sick?"

            She nodded thoughtfully.  "Yeah I guess I could do that."  She regarded him for a moment.  "Will that other guy be here today?" she asked quietly.

            "What other guy?"

            "The one that doesn't like me very much and can't wait for me to leave."

            He reached a hand up to smooth her hair away from her forehead.  "No.  He won't be around again, I promise."

            "Good."  She smiled.  "I'd really love a shower."

            "Make yourself at home," he said indicating the bathroom door.  "There's a bathrobe hanging on the door you can wear."

            "Is it yours?" she questioned.

            He nodded.  "I'll be down in the kitchen when you're done."  He stood up and left the room.

            She sat up in bed and reached for the phone on the table.  She dialed Mrs. Dupre's number and explained that she just couldn't drag herself out of bed this morning.  The office manager responded that Mardi had been looking rather sickly the last week, offered her well wishes, and told her they'd see her on Monday.  Mardi was grinning as she hung up the phone then went into the bathroom to shower.  When she was finished she put on the robe, taking a moment to smell it.  Aftershave, soap, and something else that was distinctly him.  She smiled absently at the memories the smells invoked.

            Downstairs, in the kitchen, she found him standing at the counter, a waffle iron on the counter to his right.  "Handsome, rich, and he cooks.  Doesn't get much better than this, does it?" she called out to him.

            He turned towards her, a bowl under his left arm, the right mixing batter with a whisk.  With a half smile he responded, "It's not much.  There's a pre-made powder mixture you can buy and add milk, eggs, and shortening to.  Not very difficult."

            She walked over to where he was working and hoisted herself up onto the counter to watch him work.  "Bisquick," she replied in awe, nodding to the yellow box standing to his left.  "Magical stuff, or so I've heard."

            "Do you cook?" he asked as he carefully measured a portion of the batter and poured it onto the preheated iron, and then closing the lid.

            She gave a bark of laughter.  "Cook?  My best dish is take-out; I can order a mean moo goo gai pan."  She sighed.  "It's a wonder that my father and I didn't starve to death after Grandma died.  If it couldn't be boiled or nuked we didn't eat it.  As a matter of fact it was my poor showing in Home Ec that brought my grade point average down.  Damn Ms. Simms and her soufflé final."  She held up a fist in mock consternation.

            He crossed his arms and leaned against the counter.  "Cooking is like a science.  Measure the proper ingredients, mix in the correct proportions, and heat.  Sit back and watch the reactions.  Sometimes the experiments work, and sometimes they don't."

            He turned back to the waffle iron and opened the lid, revealing the golden brown creation.  Using a fork, he popped it onto a plate and presented it to her.  "Amazing," she breathed, looking at the plate from all angles.  Setting it aside she said suddenly, "I want to know everything there is to know about you."  She grabbed his arm to pull him in front of her, wrapping her legs around him.

            "Everything?" he asked, his brows furrowed slightly in worry.

            "Sure.  Unless you've got some secret too terrible to tell me.  What could be more terrible than Muffy and Buffy?" she asked, with astonishment.

            His face seemed to relax and he shook his head.  "No, there's nothing worse than Muffy and Buffy."

            "Good."  She hooked a hand behind his neck and brought his lips down to a kiss.  He gently pulled away, much to her chagrin.

            "Your breakfast is getting cold," he chided her.

            "Yeah, but I'm just getting warmed up," she said and reached for him again.  He looked at her with a raised eyebrow, shaking his head, and then went back to his task, pouring a second serving into the waffle iron.  "C'mon," she complained, slipping off of the counter and grabbing her plate.  She walked over to the kitchen table where melted butter and syrup were sitting in delicate china serving bowls.  "Sex is the one thing we've got going for this relationship.  Don't start holding out on me."  She sat down and cut a bite off the waffle.  "Oh this is heaven," she whispered.

            "You don't believe that do you?"

            "What?  Name one thing besides a mutual attraction that we have in common."  He started to open his mouth and she cut him off.  "And don't bring up the tragic loss thing.  That's even worse to base a relationship on than sex."

            He sat down with his own plate.  "Maybe once we've learned about each other we'll discover something after all."

            "Hmm," she replied unconvinced as she ate her meal.  When they were finished, she gathered up the plates.  "I may not be able to cook, but I can at least clean up."  She loaded the industrial size dishwasher with all of the breakfast dishes, as he sat quietly watching her.  "So tell me, what happened after your parents died?" she asked as she sat back down, placing her elbow on the table and cupping her chin.

            He didn't seem the least disconcerted over the abrupt change of topic, but looked thoughtful for a moment.  "The state wanted to put me into foster care, but I refused.  With the help of a colleague of my father's, Alfred became my legal guardian, and I was able to stay here, in my family's home."  His quiet voice belied any emotions, but his eyes were alive with them.

            "Alfred was your butler, right?" she asked softly.  He nodded.  "Must have been a pretty lonely childhood.  Where'd you go to school?"

            "I attended a private academy for a few years.  In my early teens I left Gotham and traveled abroad, throughout Europe and Asia, for about twelve years."

            "A grand tour?  Pretty exciting.  You must have had a good time if you were over there for so long."

            "It was educational," he replied deadpan.

            "Educational?"  It suddenly dawned on her.  "You've always been like this haven't you?"

            "Like what?" he asked.

            "So completely wound up in yourself, like you have this huge Atlas complex – the whole world's on your shoulders.  What I don't get is those reports of you as a party-hearty ladies' man.  What's that all about?  I mean I saw the pictures, but it just didn't seem like the real you."

            "People don't ask questions when they think they already know the answers."

            "What questions?"

            "It's not imp…"

            "Important," she finished for him testily.  "I think I've heard this tune before.  Listen, I'm not your therapist.  I've got too much going on in my own head to give a shit about your hang-ups.  I get that there are things you don't want to talk about and I'll respect that – to a point.  I could leave right now and, even though it would be harder to do than last time, I could say goodbye and actually mean it.  But I'm warning you that given too much longer I'm going to be emotionally invested.  That's what I've been avoiding all this time, so if I'm going to let myself take that step, the least you could do is meet me halfway.  If that's too much to ask, then…"

            "You told me so?" he spoke with a graveled voice.

            She sighed.  "I hate being right all the time."

             He took hold of her hand and rubbed a thumb across the knuckles.  "Just give it time," he said.  "I've closed off a part of my past that I'd like to stay closed.  Bare with me on the rest."

            She squinted her eyes.  "You're never going to be warm and fuzzy are you?"

            "No."

            "Perfect.  I hate warm and fuzzy.  Just be honest with me, okay?"

            "I'll promise never to lie more than I have to."

            Later, they retired to the library.  He started a fire at her request, even though it was still late summer.  She chose a book from his vast shelves, a rare first edition of 'Jane Eyre'.  Holding the book up for his inspection, she said, "One of my favorites.  The classic but tragic tale of a young, naïve girl who falls for a brooding older man with a dark past."  She paused for a moment's thought, and then said suspiciously, "You don't have an insane wife locked in your attic do you?"  He couldn't help a small laugh as he shook his head.  "Well that's a relief."

            She threw some pillows on the floor in front of the fireplace and settled down in them to enjoy her book.  She was still wearing the bathrobe and it slipped down her thigh as she crossed one slender leg over the other.  He relaxed in a comfortable chair with a book of true crime stories.

            After a quarter of an hour, when he realized he hadn't turned a page, he put the book down in his lap.  He cleared his throat, and said, "Why don't you finish school and get your degree?"

            Without looking up from the book, she replied, "Why?"

            "You would improve your job marketability, increase your income, you could find something with a future."

            This time she did set the book aside and looked over at him.  "Something a bit more permanent, maybe?"

            "That too.  Are you planning on being rootless for the rest of your life?"

            "Rootless?" she echoed, and then crawled over to kneel in front of him, placing her hands on his knees.  "You're really worried I'm going to take off aren't you?"

            "It had crossed my mind."

            She took a deep breath and licked her lips, then said lightly, "Well I could take a few night classes.  It's only a semester, it wouldn't take too long.  Would that make you happy?"

            He reached over and brushed her hair away from her face.  "Yes."  He stood up and motioned for her to stand as well.  "There's one more thing that's been on my mind," he said in a serious voice.  "I'm concerned about the neighborhood you're living in."  She rolled her eyes and tried to turn away, but he caught her arm and made her look at him.  "Would you be able to defend yourself if attacked?"

            "You've got to be kidding.  I'm in no danger there.  You, on the other hand, would be prime pickings.  They know I don't have anything."

            "I'm serious, Mardi.  Gotham is a very tough place to live in.  Things happen, people get hurt.  How would you defend yourself if you were attacked?"

            "I'd probably scream my head off, okay?"  It happened quicker than she could have ever imagined.  One minute they were facing each other, and the next he was holding her arm at an unnatural angle behind her back, his hand over her mouth.  

            He lowered her head and whispered into her ear, "Now what are you going to do?"

            "Mmmm.    Mmmmm.  Mmmmm!" she cried out beneath his hand, trying to work out of his grasp, to no avail.  He let her go as quickly as he'd grabbed her.  She whirled around and stared at him in astonishment.  "What the hell was that!?"

            "It'll be that quick when it happens.  You need to learn to take care of yourself.  I could show you some techniques."

            "You?" she said dubiously.

            "Yes.  I studied martial arts while I was in Asia."

            "What, like karate?"

            "Among others."

            "So what belt did you earn?"

            "Seventh degree black belt."

            "Get out!"  She regarded him for a moment and then shrugged.  "Well in that case, why not?  It might be fun."  She followed him into the workout room, where he gave her a set of sweats to change into, before disappearing to change his own clothes.  He returned wearing a white gi, with a black belt tied around his waist.  Mardi whistled, he frowned, and the afternoon took a turn for the worse.

            "Oof."  Mardi hit the mat for the tenth time, this time she didn't make any immediate effort to get back up.  "God," she moaned.  "You know, I'm not going to be able to move tomorrow."  She managed to roll onto one side and push herself up.

            "You've got to focus," he said harshly, completely devoid of any signs of sympathy.  "You've got to gain control."

            "Focus has got nothing to do with it," she replied sharply, massaging her lower back.  "You outweigh me by at least a hundred pounds."  All her good humor had vanished and she was feeling annoyed with his tutorial style, which seemed like a cross between Attila the Hun and Darth Vader.

            "That's irrelevant.  Once you gain control of the situation you will be able to use your opponent's size and weight to your advantage.  Let's try it again."  His voice was hard and unyielding.

            She stood her ground.  Physically she'd always been in good shape.  Star of her school's volleyball team, and a passable basketball player, she'd always been fit, and still maintained a modest exercise routine to stay that way.  But at this moment she felt pummeled and beaten and tired, and he was asking for more.  "Remind me again why we're doing this."

            "So you can defend yourself against an attack.  So you won't be hurt," he replied impatiently.

            "Seems to me the only one hurting me is you."  She met his gaze defiantly and was not pleased by what she saw.  His eyes, which she normally found to be so sexy, were now cold and hard.  She moved to a side table and took a swallow from a water bottle, looking at his reflection in the mirror hanging on the wall before her.  Fear tingled at the base of her spine.  "Why are you doing this?" she quietly asked the reflection.

            "I told you…" he started, flexing one fist at his side.

            She shook her head and turned to face him.  "This isn't normal behavior.  Who are you?"  He didn't answer, and that small voice in the back of her mind cried out, _You don't want to know!_  The fear was strong, it was the same driving force that had made her virtually put her life on hold for the last eight years, but there was something else deeper down inside – stubbornness.  It was this stubbornness that had caused her to break an arm and a leg, and almost her neck, when little Bobby Miller had emphatically told her no girl could ever climb to the top of Old Man Sykes' oak tree.  It was what kept her in a failed marriage long after she should have thrown in the towel.  It kept her going in the rough years when all she wanted to do was lie down and go to sleep forever.

            She walked up to him and asked again, "Who are you?" in a stronger voice, but he still didn't respond, only looking at her with those eyes that seemed to come from a different world.  "WHO ARE YOU!" she screamed into his face, the fear and tension lacing each word, and did something she'd never done in her entire life.  Her hand drew back and she sent it flying towards his face, only it never hit its mark.  He caught it easily, his eyes never leaving her face, not even so much as flinching.  His grip was strong, but not too strong – she vividly remembered the man in the alley crying and holding his arm. 

            "I don't know anymore," he finally replied as if coming out of a trance.  "I just don't know."  At this moment the tears spilled from her eyes.  He released her hand, which she let it drop helplessly to her side, and then reached out to clasp her head with both hands, his thumbs wiping the moisture from her cheeks.  "I'm sorry I hurt you.  For a moment I forgot you weren't….That I wasn't…." 

            "Who?  You weren't what?  I don't understand."

            He let go and turned away from her.  "This was a bad idea.  I'm sorry."

            She swallowed, and came around to face him.  "The idea was good, but the execution was poor."  A feeling of deep sympathy for the pain she saw in his face overwhelmed her.  Forcing a smile, she continued, "I'd like to be able to kick some ass, and if you think you can leave the drill sergeant routine at the door, I'd like you to teach me.  Maybe I could actually take you someday."

            "Not likely," he replied.

            "You think you're invulnerable against me?" she asked playfully.  He shrugged, but smiled.  "We'll see about that."  She placed a hand on his shoulder and reached up, grabbing his earlobe between her lips.  After only several seconds he circled her waist with his arms and made a small sigh in his throat.  She pushed him away with a sly smile.  "See, everybody has at least one weakness.   Even Superman has kryptonite, right?"  His eyes narrowed, and he turned away from her while muttering incoherently.  "Hey, what was that?" she said, grabbing his shoulder.

            Looking her in the eye he said clearly, "Superman's a pussy."

            She stifled a giggle, and said with a serious face, "Oh yeah, I'm sure you could take him."


	8. You Can Take The Man Out Of The Batsuit,...

You Can Take the Man Out Of The Batsuit, But You Can't Take The Bat Out Of The Man. 

Three Days Till Christmas, 2024

            It was a bitter cold late December day.  Last minute Christmas shoppers paraded through the streets bundled up in coats and scarves and mittens while searching for the perfect gifts.  Bruce and Mardi walked side by side in comfortable silence, a few packages carried in festive bags.  Between the two of them they only had a handful of people to shop for, and were utilizing the time to spend together since the next few days were expected to be hectic and mostly spent apart.  Mardi was scheduled to fly out of Gotham airport in two days to visit her father for Christmas, though she'd offered to stay with him instead, which he politely refused.  It was more important, he had said to her, that she spent the holiday with her father while she still had the chance.

            Mardi stopped in front of a storefront and peered into the showcase window at a display of dresses.  Standing next to her Bruce peered around at the bustling activity.  A car pulling to a screeching halt in front of the bank across the street immediately captured his attention.  Four young men were inside, all wearing ski caps and dark glasses.  Three of the men immerged and Bruce noted as the one closest to him turned, his overcoat slipped open to reveal a gun slung over his shoulder.  The three men entered the bank as the fourth stayed behind the wheel of the still running car.

            He turned to Mardi and said, "Why don't you go inside and pick out a nice dress.  It'll be my Christmas present to you."

            She peered up at him suspiciously.  "Haven't you already gotten me a present?" she remarked.

            "An early birthday present then."  She pressed her lips together.  They had just celebrated her 36th birthday a month before.  "Get a pair of shoes while you're at it.  I have to run an errand.  Don't leave until I get back."

            "But Bruce, I don't need a new dress…" she started to argue, but it was cut off as he bent down and kissed her firmly and thoroughly on the mouth.  When he released her, she looked up at him with a lazy smile and said, "One of these days, Mr. Wayne, that's not going to work for you anymore, then what will you do?"

            "I won't be long."  He made sure she was completely inside the store before backtracking halfway up the block and cutting across the busy street.  He came up on the car from the rear on the driver's side and rapped on the window.  "Got the time?" he mumbled as the window started to lower.

            "Get lost jack…ugh!"  A quick, solid punch to the face rendered the man unconscious.  Bruce pushed him back so that his head rolled onto the seat's headrest, giving the illusion that he was simply napping.  For good measure Bruce reached in and removed the keys from the ignition and tossed them into a sewer drain.

            Looking both ways to make sure no one witnessed the scene, he moved hastily up to the bank's doorway.  Through the double glass doors he could see one of the three men standing in the vestibule in such a way that he could both guard the entrance and monitor the activity inside the bank at the same time.  Bruce flipped up the collar of his cashmere coat in an attempt to shield his face from view, and walked to the door, tapping to draw the guard's attention.  The man turned and hollered through the glass, "Closed.  Come back later."  Bruce cupped a hand behind his ear and shrugged, keeping his head bent down slightly.  Perturbed, the man turned the thumb lock and opened the door slightly.  "I said we're closed…"  The sentence was cut off as Bruce reached in and grabbed his lapels, slamming his face into the glass.  He slid slowly down to the floor leaving a Rorschach trail of blood and spittle.

            Surreptitiously Bruce stepped over the prone body and pulled the door shut behind him, throwing the lock back into place.  A gun, which the crook had hidden behind his back, lay on the floor.  Bruce picked it up and pulled out the clip, slipping it into his coat pocket and dropping the empty weapon at his feet.  Then he reached down and removed the knit cap from the man's head, placing it on his own.  He pulled it down over his hair as far as it would go.  The reflective sunglasses followed, the left lens cracked from the blow.

            Looking through a second set of double glass doors, Bruce could see thirteen customers and employees laying face down with their hands over their heads along the right side of the large room.  A man with a gun in his hand slowly patrolled the area between the hostages and the central service counter, where he leaned over for a better view to the back.  As he was doing this, Bruce slipped inside.  A young girl of about three, who was lying next to her mother, looked up with wide eyes.  He raised one hand and laid a finger across his lips.  The girl quickly turned her head and buried it into her mother's side. 

            Bruce slipped to the left using a courtesy counter for cover.  He was pondering how he was going to take out the last two thieves without some sort of weapon when he spotted a shiny black shoe laying next to the table.  Connected to the shoe was a leg that disappeared along the side of the table.  Bruce crawled over and saw the dead body of the bank's security guard with a bloody hole in his chest.  His lips pressed together for a moment in anger, and then he looked down at the guard's belt.  On one side was his sidearm, still holstered.  The robbers had caught him off-guard, shooting first to gain control of the situation.  On the other side, settled into its own loop was what the police referred to as a peacekeeper, or a blackjack.  He managed to slide the long black stick out as silently as possible, and peered around the corner.

            The man was leaning against the counter again and called out, "What's taking so damn long?  Get on with it!"

            A voice yelled back, "Hold your horses Hank!  She's going as fast as she can!"

            Hank grimaced and turned to pace back in the other direction.  His back was directly towards Bruce and he knew the time was right.  Bending slightly at the waist, he took several long strides and swung the stick in a long arc, smashing it into the back of Hank's knees.  With an aborted cry of shock and pain, the man flew backwards, landing hard.  Bruce grabbed the gun and used the side of his hand to smash into the man's nose, knocking him out in one blow.  

            "All right!  Let's get this show on the road," the voice from the back called out.  Bruce crouched just below the edge of the countertop.  "Hank?" he heard, the voice located immediately above him.  "What the hell…?"  In his concern for his companion, he leaned forward to get a closer look.  As soon as Bruce saw him appear over the edge, he reached up and grabbed his coat, yanking him completely over and onto his back, side-by-side with his compatriot.  Shortly he was out cold as well.

            He laid both weapons on the service counter and looked at the young teller who had been assisting in collecting the money out of the vault, now staring at him with wide eyes.  "I think you can call the police now," he said in a low voice.  She just nodded.

            As he moved towards the door, the young girl leapt up and ran over to him.  He looked down at her and she spoke.  "Are you a good guy?"  He nodded and she hugged his knees briefly before rejoining her mother, who, along with the rest of the hostages, was coming slowly to her feet.  He pushed through the first set of doors, stripped off the hat and glasses, dropping them onto the still form of the look-out, and then let himself out the exit, straightening his jacket as he walked.

            Several doors down, he entered a jewelry store.  A few words with the shopkeeper got him exactly what he needed.  The purchase was made in less than ten minutes, and he was back on the street with two boxes deep in his pocket, one long and slender, and one small and square.  By the time he'd crossed the street and walked back to the dress shop, sirens could be heard approaching.  Through the large glass window he saw Mardi in deep contemplation of two dresses being held by a sales clerk.  He pushed open the door and silently walked up behind her.  "I like the blue one," he spoke into her ear.  She jumped and turned towards him.

            "Oh, you scared me!  I was thinking about the blue one too."  She looked over his shoulder and asked, "What's going on out there?"

            He glanced back to see several police cars and an ambulance.  "Looks like something happened at the bank," he replied casually.

            "Where was your errand?" she asked.

            With a smile, he replied, "It's a surprise."

            "Wayne," he spoke into the telephone.  He was sitting at his desk in the study finishing up paperwork for the Wayne Foundation's yearly Christmas donations when the phone rang.

            "Busy day?" the acerbic voice spoke from the other end.

            The corner of his mouth twitched as he said, "Merry Christmas to you too, Barbara."

            "Cut the crap, Bruce.  There was an attempted bank robbery on the south side today.  A man walked into the middle of it and took out the perpetrators in almost military-like precision.  All witnesses describe the mystery man as having a large build and being very well dressed, though he wore a cap and glasses to hide his face and hair."

            "And of course I'm the only man in Gotham who fits that description," he replied dryly.

            "No, but you're the only one who used to be Batman."  They were both quiet for several moments.  "This can't continue Bruce.  I won't allow it."

            "Barbara…"

            "You're a danger to yourself and to others.  Don't ever forget that."

            "I never do."

            "Good.  I expect I'll never have to make this call again."  The phone buzzed in his hand after she hung up and he replaced the receiver solemnly.  

            "Who was that?"  He looked up to see Mardi standing in the doorway.  Her coat was folded over her arm and her bag slung on her shoulder.

            "Nobody.  A wrong number.  Where are you going?"

            "I told you last week I was helping Jesse with the school's holiday pageant tomorrow.  It'll be an early day, so I'm going home for the night.  My flight's first thing the following morning. I won't be back before I leave."

            He nodded, vaguely remembering the conversation.  "Come over here.  I have your surprise."  She hesitated, before moving across the room to stand next to his chair.  "Give me your left hand."  She frowned, but complied.  He held it in one of his own while the other pulled open the top drawer of his desk.  "I think when two people are in a relationship, a certain amount of commitment should be expected."  Her eyes were wide and her cheeks went pale.  She tried to take her hand back, but he held it tightly.  "A commitment to being at a place at the agreed upon time for starters…" he said, finally pulling out the long box he'd purchased that day.  Opening it he removed a delicate white-gold watch with diamond chips edging the face.  She let out a long sigh of relief.  "And the only way to do that is if you have a proper sense of time.  You've been consistently tardy to every date we've had.  This is unacceptable for someone rising up the corporate ladder.  I hope this will help you keep better track of your appointments."

            He fixed the clasp around her wrist and she said with a smile, "A watch.  This is your big surprise?  You had me scared there for a moment.  It's beautiful, though.  I love it."

            Not letting go of her hand, he rubbed his thumb along her bare third finger while looking directly into her eyes.  "You're not disappointed?"

            The smile faded.  "Not at all," she replied firmly.

            "And if it had been something else, with a question involved…your answer would be…?"

            She finally managed to pull her hand free.  "No.  My answer would be no."

            "You won't even consider the possibility?"

            "Never.  I'm leaving now."  She turned and walked stiffly towards the door.

            "Why not?"

            "I don't need to spell it out for you.  I won't even waste my breath on it."

            "Pretend I'm a doddering old fool and explain it to me."

            "I'm not going to be anybody's trophy wife, is that clear enough for you?"

            "It wouldn't be that way."

            "Tell me how it would be then."

            He leaned forward on the desk.  "Why don't _you_ tell _me_ the real reason for your refusal."

            "I told you already…"

            "No!  This is about your husband, isn't it?  You did not kill him Mardi.  You can't be expected to carry that weight around with you for the rest of your life."

            "You couldn't possibly understand," she whispered.

            "I understand a lot better than you could imagine."

            "You can?  Can you understand that at the moment I learned he was dead I felt no grief or sadness or horror?  That instead I felt the most incredible sense of relief, like a huge weight had been lifted?  How can you even consider marrying someone so terribly heartless?"  She turned and fled.  He heard her footsteps as she ran and the thud of the front door being slammed shut behind her.

            Swarms of costumed children ran to and fro.  They represented all ethnic backgrounds and religions, coming together to celebrate the most festive time of year.  Christmas, Hanukah, Kwanzaa, Winter Solstice, and more had a place in the massive production.  

            "Emmaline, Bryce!  Stop that running!  Come here and listen to me.  Go get into your costumes.  Do you remember your lines?"  Jesse spoke to a particular pair of rambunctious tots.

            "Yes Miss Crenshaw," the two young children said earnestly.

            "Good.  Now go on.  We're gonna be starting any time."  The kids hurried off in a more orderly fashion.

             Mardi, who was sewing on a pair of antlers onto a small hat for a would-be reindeer, looked up and said, "You should get yourself one of those, Jess.  You're a natural with them."

            "I take care of fifty kids a day Mardi.  That's what being a teacher's all about."

            "Yeah, but you should have one of your own.  You'd be a terrific mother."

            "Maybe, but I'm missing a very important component."  Mardi just stared at her.  "A husband?"  Jesse chuckled.

            Mardi grimaced.  "This is the modern age.  A woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle."

            "Hold up.  This coming from my roommate, who I might as well be living with a ghost for as much as you've been there.  Something happen between you and Prince Charming?  You have a fight?"

            Mardi shrugged and bit the thread she was working on to cut it.  "Not a fight per se.  He brought up the 'M' word," she said shyly.

            "He proposed!  That's great!  Isn't it?"  She looked at Mardi suspiciously.

            "No he didn't actually propose.  It was more of a hypothetical question to see what I would say."

            "And…?"

            "And I told him no."

            "Why on God's green earth would you do something like that?"

            "Besides all the practical reasons?  I guess…I'm not sure…it's just that," she bit her lower lip.  "I don't know if he'll ever love me as much as I love him," she finished in a small voice.

            "Honey, why would he ask you to marry him if he didn't love you?" Jesse asked.  "Wait a second.  He has told you that he loves you hasn't he?"  Mardi shook her head slowly.  "Have you told him?"

            "No," she barely whispered.

            "You're a strange pair alright.  My advice: follow your heart and stop listening to that little voice.  It's only going to get you into trouble."

            She let herself in with the spare key he'd given to her.  After the extremely long day she was exhausted and should be in bed sleeping if she ever hoped to make her flight on time in the morning, but this was an errand she could not allow herself to put off.  It was late, and all the lights were off, so she assumed he'd already gone to bed.  Steeling herself against the self-doubt she entered the large house and started up the stairs, trying to walk as softly as possible, but still managing to hit several small creeks on the treads.

            At the master bedroom door she took a calming breath and grasped the knob.  The room was dark as she pushed the door inward.  She had barely taken one step in when a strong hand grabbed her arm, flinging her around until she found herself slammed into the wall face first, a heavy weight bearing into her back.  She was too paralyzed with fear to speak and had to fight for breath.

            "What do you want," a dark voice spoke into her ear.  It sounded like Bruce, but not quite.  Her heart thudded in her ears and her legs felt liquid.

            "B-bruce," she managed to choke out.  Abruptly the weight was removed from her back and light flooded the room as the switch next to the door was flipped on.  Her eyes closed tightly to the blinding pain.  She felt herself spun around.

            "Mardi?  What the hell are you doing here?  I could have hurt you."  He seemed angry but as he turned her around he gently gripped her shoulders.  "Are you all right?" He asked more calmly.

            She blinked as the light burned into her eyes, trying to focus on his face.  "I'm fine, just a little shaken up.  I had to come back to see you tonight, I'm sorry I just burst in.  I used the key you gave me."  Weakly she held it up for his inspection.  "I couldn't leave things the way we did.  I had to tell you…"  She paused trying to find both the courage and the words.

            "Tell me what?"

            "I had to tell you that I'm in love with you.  Madly, deeply, irreparably.  I think I have been since I saw you staring at me on the street corner looking so handsome in your tuxedo.  It scares me beyond all reason to feel like this.  You even scare me sometimes.  But what frightens me above all else is that some day you're not going to be around anymore and I'll have to live without you.  It's just not fair," she finished in a hoarse whisper.  His eyes went wide for a second, and then he pulled her towards him, circling his arms around her and cupping her head with one hand.  His lips brushed her hair.  She knew that she never wanted to be anywhere else in the whole world more than in his arms.  He was shirtless, sleeping only in a pair of pajama bottoms.  Her breath stirred the snowy hair on his chest as she said, "But I'm still not going to marry you."  Her voice was muffled in his firm embrace.

            "I have plenty of time to convince you otherwise," he quietly assured her.  She attempted to shake her head no.  She was so afraid – afraid to be with him, afraid to lose him, but most importantly right now she was afraid of being accused of using him for his wealth and influence, as if it were impossible to love this wonderfully intelligent, sexy, amazing man.


	9. Unexpected Guests

Unexpected Guests 

Spring, 2026

            "Are you busy?" the soft voice called to him from the hall. 

            He grunted in reply without looking up from the mounds of papers on his desk.  He'd somehow been roped into hosting Barbara and Sam's wedding since they were both extremely busy in their respective careers – Sam recently elected to the position of district attorney, and Barbara leading the field as the possible replacement for the soon-to-be retiring Commissioner of Police.  One evening, a week earlier, while he and Mardi were having dinner with the couple, Barbara had been lamenting over her lack of spare time and all of the tedious details wrapped up in even the simplest of weddings, not to mention the decision still remained as to where the event would even take place.  Mardi, in a moment of shear cosmic absurdity brought on by too much wine, had piped up and volunteered his time and home.  Several methods of slow, painful torture crossed his mind after she'd finished speaking, but the look of hope and relief on Barb's face had clinched the deal.  "Of course," he'd said cordially.  "It'll be my wedding gift to you."  He knew the former Batgirl was secretly laughing inside at his new role of wedding planner.

            Now he was knee-deep in florists, caterers, photographers, and invitations, though he drew the line at outfitting the wedding party; the bride and groom were on their own in that respect.  For about the millionth time he wished Alfred were still around, but he was the Batman who had defeated worse odds than this.

            The instigator behind his current grievous situation glided across the study floor and stood to the left of his desk trying to gain his attention.  He could feel her presence though he couldn't see it, since he still refused to so much as raise his head to acknowledge her.

            "I know you're still sore with me," she started, "but I was hoping I could get your assistance on a matter of grave importance." He pursed his lips together in annoyance and laid down his Cross pen.  Turning towards her, he folded his arms across his chest in a regal manner, and looked up.  It was with the strongest self-control learned from the greatest eastern masters that he managed to keep the look of cool indifference on his face.  She posed before him a vision in a silk, midnight blue peignoir with black lace edging the entire garment.  The V of the bodice dipped down to a dangerous level and a slit ran up the right thigh, stopping a few meager inches below her waistline.  It clung to her curves and accentuated every positive feature of her lithe form.  "I picked this up after work today.  The clerk at the shop says it's _guaranteed_ to drive any man wild.  So, do I need to get my money back or not?"  She lifted her arms, and everything shifted provocatively.

            Using ancient calming techniques he regarded her thoughtfully.  With a slight nod he said, "This will take some serious study.  Turn around."  She grinned sheepishly, and then slowly rotated to the left.  When her back was to him he commanded her to stop.  Reaching out he placed a hand on each hip and pulled her backwards until she gently sank into his lap.  "All the senses must be tested," he whispered into her ear, drawing his nose down her throat to smell her sweet fragrance, stopping at her shoulder where he planted a small kiss on the bare skin beside the negligee's strap.  His hands ran smooth, slow paths down, then up her thighs, and then around her abdomen, sliding up to cup a breast in each palm.

            Her breath hitched and she said thickly, "I don't know about you, but I'm sure getting my money's worth."

            He drew her legs across his lap and she draped her arms behind his neck, leaning into a kiss.  They were lost in each other for what could have been days, but was more likely several long minutes, hands searching, tongues tasting, and skin feeding on skin.

            The hot passion was unceremoniously cooled as a harsh voice cried out, "Oh good God!"  It was both angry and horrified and captured their attention immediately.  "It's worse than Barb said.  You have finally lost it!"

            "Dick," Bruce whispered, almost unable to believe his own eyes.  The other man's features had softened with age and his black hair was streaked with gray, but he was still solidly built with an aggressive stance enhanced by the venomous look he wore on his face.  He made a dismissive gesture with his hand and walked out of the room.  "Dick!" Bruce finally managed to find his voice.  He stood up quickly and set Mardi brusquely onto her feet.  "Stay here," he ordered and headed after his son.  "Dick!  Wait!" he commanded.

            Dick finally halted a few feet from the front door and turned to glower at him.  "You!  You of all people I would never have believed to fall for some cheap whore!" he yelled at Bruce, his voice echoing throughout the large manor.

            "Watch your language," Bruce spoke in a low, controlled voice, but as usual his emotions were in turmoil in regards to this man who once upon a time had been a small boy that had admired and revered him.

            "Why?  I'm sure she's got her hand on your wallet while the other one's wrapped around your…"

            "Richard!" he bellowed, which only caused the younger man to smirk.  "Who do you think you are coming into my home after all this time, uninvited and unannounced, and start slandering a person you've never met?"

            "I thought I was your son!"  Dick replied with surprising force.

            "So did I!"

            The two men glared at each other until Dick finally cut his eyes away first.  "When Barb told me you had a girlfriend I got suspicious.  I mean, you?  There had to be something more going on."

            Bruce nodded.  "Why don't you come in and we'll sit down and talk about it."

            "You?  Talk?" Dick replied flippantly.

            "You'd be surprised at what I'm up to these days," Bruce commented ironically.  Dick followed Bruce back into the study, where Mardi still stood behind the desk, arms crossed in an attempt to cover her only barely dressed form.  She was frowning, but moved to Bruce's side when he held his hand out to her.  "Mardi, this is Richard Grayson, my adopted son.  Dick, this is Mardi Purcell…"

            "The cheap whore," she cut in caustically, eyeing Dick with obvious disdain.  "Congratulations, you've caught me red-handed.  After all there isn't one redeemable quality about him that any self-respecting woman would be interested in, is there?  Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll leave you two to talk alone.  I've got to be at work early tomorrow."  She slipped between them and headed towards the stairs.

            Dick watched as Bruce stared after her in an almost longing manner.  Only one other time did he see his mentor react to a woman like this, and she turned out to be a plant.  For some reason he didn't think that was the case this time.  "You're in love with her aren't you?" he asked in awe.  "Are you going to marry her?"

            "I've been trying to convince her to for over a year now.  I was starting to make some headway, but thanks to you I'm probably back to square one."

            Dick raised his eyebrows.  "She won't marry you?"  He paused for a minute.  "She has a job?"  Bruce nodded and Dick suddenly felt like an ass.

            "Have a seat.  Would you like something to drink?"

            "Yeah, I think that would be a good idea."  Bruce moved over to the side bar and poured two brandies.  He carried the snifters over to Dick who was sitting in the large comfortable chair in front of his desk.  Dick thanked him and took a small sip.  "What does she do?" he asked conversationally.

            "She's an account manager at Wayne-Powers."  Dick gave him a knowing look.  "I have nothing to do with the company anymore.  Her work there is totally her own.  I suspect she'll be a division head in a couple of years.  I'd like her to find something else, but she enjoys it too much and I don't have the heart to ask her to give it up."

            "You really have changed since you stopped being Ba…"  He bit off the rest as Bruce held a hand up in the old signal for silence they'd used while patrolling the streets, the long ago training coming to the forefront of his mind.  Bruce set down his glass and walked over to close the double doors of the study.  "She doesn't know you were Batman, does she?" Dick asked when he came back and sat down.

            "No.  And I'd like to keep it that way if you don't mind."  Dick sighed and drained his glass, unsure where to go from here.  Bruce started by asking, "So you've been in contact with Barbara?"

            He nodded and then said, "Yeah, for a while now.  She even asked me to come to the wedding.  Can you believe that?"  There was a small laugh, but then he was reminded of what caused the rift to begin with and looked at Bruce darkly.  "I wanted to kill you when I found out what you'd done.  I was angry with her too, but you…God she was my life Bruce how could you?"

            The older man sat in silence for a moment.  "You were the one who left her," he finally pointed out.

            "No!  I left you, not her.  She should have come with me."

            "You should have asked her.  Or maybe you didn't because you knew what the answer would be."

            "She wouldn't have chosen you over me, never!"

            "She wouldn't have chosen Bruce over you, but she would have chosen Batman.  She knew where her duties lay."  Dick huffed and threw his head back.  "Dick," Bruce said softly.  "I never meant it to happen.  I never wanted to hurt you, either of you, in that way."

            "Did you love her?"

            "Of course.  She's the daughter of one of my dearest friends, she fought along side of me for years, she saved my life.  But she never loved me.  It was always you."  

            Dick closed his eyes, trying to process the information, the bitter hatred in his heart not wanting to let go, but he tried anyway.  "Why did we have to wait twenty years to do this?" he asked tiredly.

            "Because some people can be hardheaded and foolish."  Dick raised an eyebrow but stayed wisely silent.  "Are you coming to the wedding?"

            Dick shrugged.  "It's just too weird, know what I mean?"

            "Yes.  Yes I do."  Bruce sipped his own brandy.  "How's the family?"

            Dick looked skeptically.  "Like you haven't been keeping tabs?  Cheryl divorced me three years ago.  She's got full custody of the kids."

            "I'm sorry."

            "Nothing for you to be sorry about.  She just didn't want to be a cop's wife anymore, not to mention all the night work.  She married a butcher last fall.  I get steaks every time I go visit the kids.   Is Tim coming?" he asked.

            "No," Bruce replied sadly.  "It's better for him, he says, if he stays away from here."  _From me_, his eyes said.

            Dick looked at Bruce.  "Babs told me about your little adventure last Christmas.  Getting back into the swing of things?"

            "It was nothing really."  
            "Going to put the suit back on?"

            "I can't.  It takes too much out of me physically.  I could end up getting someone else hurt or killed."  He raised his glass.  "To the death of Batman."

            "You're really through?  I never thought I'd see the day when you'd hang up the cape."

            "Me either Dick."

            Dick looked thoughtfully into his glass for a moment, then looked up with a grin.  "You know if you marry her she'll be like my step-mother."  Bruce stared at him blankly.  "She's younger than me," he explained.

            "Get over it," Bruce replied tersely.

            She was lying on her side, facing the wall when he slipped under the sheets next to her.  It didn't take the world's greatest detective to figure out she was still angry.  "I'm sorry," he said out loud into the darkness.

            "Why?  Because you didn't raise him with better manners?"  She rolled over and her eyes flashed in the moonlight.

            "Dick's concern was genuine, if misplaced, however he has a short temper and has a bad habit of saying whatever's on his mind.  Not unlike another little hot-head that I'm particularly fond of."  He tapped her nose with a finger.

            "Yes but if _he_ thinks that way, what do you expect the rest of the city thinks?" she cried.

            "Let me make one thing perfectly clear, I don't give a damn what the rest of the city, or even the world for that matter, thinks.  They don't know you, and they don't even really know me.  Most of them are probably more interested that I've been with the same woman for longer than a week.  If they believe you're using me they probably feel I'm simply getting my comeuppance."

            She sighed, "But…"

            "No," he replied firmly.  "No 'buts'.  I know you, and I trust you. That's all that matters.  I won't listen to any more about this."

            She bit her lower lip and lowered her eyes for a moment.  Then she looked back up at him.  "Fine," she agreed reluctantly.  "But I'm not really a hot-head, am I?"

            He trailed a finger softly down her cheek.  "You are very passionate, _about everything_, you speak your mind, and you always fight the good fight.  I can't begrudge you that.  As a matter of fact, that's what attracted me to you."  His hand slid down her shoulder and beneath the sheets, settling on her still silk-clad waist.  "I do believe we started something earlier that needs to be finished."  Before she could reply he sunk his fingertips into her delicate flesh, eliciting the desired reaction.  She squealed and tried to pull away from his touch.

            "Don't do that!" she shrieked between giggles as his hand found other tender areas quicker than she could defend against the brutal onslaught.  Before long she was gasping for breath and begging for his mercy.

            The following morning Mardi's alarm clock sounded at precisely six am.  She quickly turned it off and made her way to the bathroom with an increasing sense of urgency.  She managed to close the door behind her and barely made it to the toilet before expelling the meager contents of her stomach, followed by several dry heaves.

            Once the convulsions had passed she stood before the mirror and wiped her face with a cool cloth, wondering what she could have possible eaten that would have made her so violently ill.


	10. Family Bonding

Family Bonding 

            Three people sat around the end of the long Wayne dining table, Bruce at the head, Mardi and Dick on either side of him, eyeing each other like a pair of boxers awaiting the starting bell for round one of the championship bout.  It had been three days since their unfortunate introduction and the animosity had not slackened.  Bruce felt a little quality time between the two most important people in his life was called for if he hoped to have a meaningful future with either one.

            The dinner laid out before them was as simple as it was inedible.  Mardi had actually attempted cooking it on her own, from the leathery pot roast to the mashed potatoes that weren't all that lumpy to the almost gravy-like substance that had at least a cup too much salt to the vegetable dish that had started out as green beans but was now unidentifiable mush.   All three diners seemed to be making a concerted effort not to notice.  

            Bruce remained wisely silent, hoping that one or the other would make the first overture, throwing meaningful looks at Dick.  Finally getting the hint, Dick cleared his throat.  Mardi looked at him expectantly.  "I guess I need to apologize for the things I said the other night.  I didn't mean anything personal by it."

            "Sure," she said.  "And I'm sorry I called you a sanctimonious ass."

            Dick looked perplexed.  "You never said that to me."

            "Oh.  In that case, you are a sanctimonious ass."   She resumed eating, oblivious to his sputtering.

            Dick looked at Bruce, who was intensely interested in a watercolor landscape painting hanging on the wall to his left.  Fighting the urge to kick him under the table, Dick looked back at Mardi, who was now staring at him with the utmost contempt.  "Okay, let's call that even and start over," he offered.

            "Whatever," she replied flatly.

            "Good," he said brightly.  "So Bruce tells me you work at Wayne-Powers.  That must be kind of weird, huh?"

            "How so?"

            "I was just thinking if everybody knows that you're shack…er, I mean living with one of the owners…"

            "My living arrangements are nobody's business but my own."  Her voice dripped with icy calm.

            "Uh oh, I've gone and offended you again, haven't I?"

            "What a surprise," she drawled.  "Of course, what more is there to expect from a grown man who has the maturity of a twelve year old?"

            Bruce was now studiously inspecting the carpet.  Dick realized he was completely on his own for this showdown.  And he feared he was woefully outgunned.  They could sling insults back and forth, but what would that accomplish, he wondered.  He'd already made the first move towards reconciliation with Bruce, and this seemed to be the final test.

            "Okay, that's it!  We've got to call a truce," he finally said with exasperation.  Pointing to his father he said, almost pleading, "For him at least?"

            Bruce finally looked at him, a hint of pride in his blue eyes.  Then he looked at Mardi with a raised eyebrow.  "Well?"

            She stood up, tossing her napkin down.  "We have apple pie for dessert," she said and disappeared into the kitchen.

            Dick gave Bruce a desperate look.  "What, is she trying to kill me?  You couldn't find someone who at least can cook?"

            Bruce shrugged.  "She has other talents."  He gave his son a knowing smile.

            "Oh, I did _not_ need to hear that!"

            "Hear what?" Mardi questioned as she came back through the door carrying a tray.

            "I was telling Dick that although cooking isn't your forte, you have some other remarkable skills."

            "Really?  Did you tell him about that thing I do with my feet?"

            "Please don't," Dick moaned.

            "Is your mind constantly in the gutter?  I simply can write my name with my toes."

            "Why would you want to do that?" he asked in utter confusion.

            "I never said it was a useful ability," she shrugged, and started dishing out slices of the pie.  "And for your information, I did not make this; I picked it up at a bakery."

            "Thank God!" Dick exclaimed with relief, digging into his piece.  Mardi looked at Bruce, and Bruce looked at Mardi, and she burst out laughing.  Dick looked up and swallowed the bite in his mouth.  "Does this mean everything's okay?"

            She stopped laughing long enough to shake her head and say, "No."  But she was still smiling.

            She was out on the veranda, leaning against the railing, gazing out at the starry night, after leaving the men to talk in the study.  He watched her through the glass door for a moment before softly opening it and joining her against the rail.  She was cradling a mug between her hands and took a sip before looking up at him.

            "Hey," he said softly.  "What's that?"

            She shrugged.  "Just some hot tea.  I was hoping it would settle my stomach.  I think something I ate disagreed with me."

            He flashed one of his patented grins.  "Join the club."

            Her face darkened for one brief second and then relaxed into a large smile.  "I've come to terms with the fact that I won't be gracing the cover of _Haute Cuisine Monthly._"  He could see how she managed to capture Bruce's heart.  She was feisty and clever, able to sling vicious barbs and still maintain a self-effacing humor, with a touch of bawdy temptress thrown in for good measure; it would be enough to keep even the most jaded man on his toes.  And she was unquestionably attractive in a simple sort of way.  Dick thought that given different circumstances he may well have fallen for her himself.

            They stood in silence for a while, before Dick gathered enough courage to launch into his reason for coming out.  "Despite my initial reservations, I wanted you to know I think you might actually do him some good.  Take it from someone who knows, he's not famous for making commitments, he's always been, well…"

            "Don't worry, I know all about his past exploits."

            "You do?  He said you didn't know he was…"

            "Fast and loose with his affections?  There used to be a different woman every night.  Sometimes two.  It doesn't take a psychiatrist to figure out what that was all about.  Orphaned at a young age, just trying to replace his parents with whatever girl was handy."

            "Oh _that_ past," he said, backpedaling.  "Sure that's exactly what I meant.  The whole playboy routine.  Yeah."  He cleared his throat.  "So anyway why won't you marry him then?"           

            "I've been married before.  It's not all it's cracked up to be." 

            "I know I sounded harsh before, but if it makes any difference I know you're not after his money."

            "And how do you figure that?"

            "I'm a police detective; it's my job to read people," he said good-naturedly.

            "But I could be the world's greatest actress.  After all what better way to throw you off the scent than to refuse the one thing I wanted."

            "Sure, but there's one flaw in your reasoning.  _He_ trusts you."

            "So?"

            "So, Bruce Wayne may be a lot of things, but gullible is not one of them.  Believe me, he knew everything there is to know about you twelve hours after you met him.  I guarantee that if you were trying to pull the wool over his eyes, he'd know and you'd be out on your ear."  She just shook her head and looked out over the grounds effectively dismissing the subject.  He decided not to pursue the matter.  Instead he gently elbowed her and asked, "So any chance you and I will ever be friends?"

            "Hard to say.  You didn't make a very good first impression," she replied airily.

            "I can accept that.  Just don't expect me to call you 'Mom'," he teased.

            Turning, she placed a hand on her hip.  "If you do you won't live long enough to say it a second time," she promised.

            "Agreed," he said with a laugh.  "Hey, the night's still young, you up for a little fun?"

            "What?" she asked suspiciously.

            "Have you ever been to a karaoke bar?"

            "Singing in public?  No."

            "Perfect.  First-timers are the best.  Tim and I used to do it all the time.  It's a blast."

            "Who's Tim?"

            "Uh, just another one of Bruce's strays.  He used to collect them back in the day."  She started to ask another question, so he said quickly, "Maybe we can even get old grim and grumpy to accompany us."

            "Dear lord, her singing is just as bad as her cooking," Dick complained.  On stage Mardi was putting every effort into a song, even though she was terribly off-key.

_I keep on fallin' iiinnn  
And out of love with yooouuu_

            "Tell me again what we're doing here," Bruce asked as his finger drummed the table.

            "Family bonding," Dick replied with a pained look on his face as he watched the performance.

            "I mean what am I doing here?"

            Dick shot him a look.  "Barb told me you're busting your back getting their wedding together, so I figured you could use some time to relax."

            "This is relaxing?"

_Oh, oh, oh - I never felt this waay  
How do you give me so much plea-sure  
And cause me so much pai-ai-ai-ain_

            "Dogs must be falling down dead outside," Dick quipped.   "Hey what are you going to sing?"

            "I'm not singing," Bruce replied darkly.

            "Spoilsport," Dick complained as he flagged down a waitress to get a song list.  "Look at all these oldies.  Hmmm,"  he perused the list.  "Oh, look at this.  Another Superman song.  Ever wonder why they never wrote a song about you?" he said slyly.  Bruce ignored him.  "You know what, I think this might work.  Listen,  'I'm just a man, in a pointy black mask'," he sung.

            Bruce shot daggers from his eyes.  "That's enough," he spoke through clenched teeth.  Dick got up and asked the waitress for a pen and paper.

            Mardi's performance was winding down on stage.

_I'm fallin' in and out of love with you  
I never loved someone the way that I love you_

Mercifully the song ended.  A few onlookers removed their hands from their ears and gave a half-hearted attempt at applause.  Oblivious, Mardi hopped down and walked over to the table, sliding into the chair next to Bruce.  "Oh, that was fun," she gasped with a huge grin on her face.

            Bruce leaned forward and whispered, "Don't ever do that again."

            "Why?" she asked.

            "Because you sucked," Dick responded without looking up from the paper he was furiously writing on.

            "Well I'd like to see you do better," she told Bruce.

            "No," he replied.

            "Why not?"

            "My family can trace its heritage to Scottish royalty.  The Wayne's do not sing karaoke."

            "That's a crock of BS!" Dick exclaimed.  To Mardi he said, "He can do anything as long as he's _prepared _for it.  His biggest fear is of failure.  Or being embarrassed.  Or being embarrassed by failure.  Anyway, everything's got to be perfect for Mr. Control-freak.  I mean when I was a kid and we…"

            "Dick, that's enough," Bruce scowled.

            "Whatever.  I'm done."  He got up and spoke to the waitress, who nodded and went to load the machine.  Dick proceeded to take the stage.

            "Mr. Control-freak?" Mardi asked.

            "Let it go," he warned.

            Into the microphone Dick was beginning his own introduction.  "There have been numerous songs about The Man Of Steel, Superman.  Don't get me wrong, Big Blue is certainly song-worthy, but why haven't there been any for Gotham's own hero, the Batman?"  A few cheers rose through the crowd and Bruce groaned inaudibly, putting his head in his hand.  Dick continued.  "So I have borrowed one of Supes' tunes and rewrote some of the lyrics.  This is dedicated to the Dark Knight, may he rest in peace."

            As the music was being queued, Mardi leaned over and asked, "Do you really think Batman's dead?"

            "Absolutely," Bruce replied.  "We should be leaving now."  He tried to stand up as the first few notes of the song came out of the speakers.

            "Hey!" she exclaimed.  "I remember this song.  It was one of my favorites as a kid.  I want to hear."  Bruce glared at her, but sat down.

            Dick started singing in a clear baritone voice:

_I can't stand to fight  
It's not some great feat  
I'm just out to rid  
The evil from the street _

_I'm more than a bat…I'm more than a man  
More than some darkened face, always with a plan  
It's not easy to be me_

_Wish that I could cry  
Fall upon my knees  
Find a way to hide  
From all these painful memories _

_It may sound absurd…but it's still the truth  
Even Heroes have the right to brood  
I may be disturbed…but wouldn't you be  
Even Heroes have the right to grieve  
It's not easy to be me _

_Up, up here…away from everything  
It's all right…You can all sleep sound tonight  
I'm not crazy…or anything… _

_I can't even fly  
But I found other means  
Men weren't meant to swing  
Like monkeys in the trees _

_I'm only a man in a pointy black mask  
Battling every night on these lonely streets  
Only a man in a pointy black mask  
Hiding from the dark things inside of me _

_It's not easy to be me. _

            The song faded to an end.  There was one brief moment of silence before the entire room exploded in cheers and claps and whistles.  Dick sketched an exaggerated bow and leapt off the stage, executing a perfect forward flip, causing even louder praise.  He was grinning ear to ear as he strolled confidently to the table.  He brought a hand up and touched his fingertips to his forehead in a mock salute to Bruce, who for once seemed at a complete loss for words.

            Mardi leapt up clapping enthusiastically, and gave him a big hug before he sat down.  "That was great!" she gushed.

            "Thanks," he grinned taking a swig of his beer.  "Whaddya think?" he asked Bruce.

            Bruce just stood up, motioning for Mardi to do the same.  As she was putting on her coat he looked at Dick and nodded once.

            They were getting ready for bed.  She stood from her dressing table, rubbing lotion into her hands and arms.  As she moved towards the bed, Bruce stepped out from the bathroom and caught her around the waist, pulling her close and nuzzled her throat just beneath her jaw line, where he knew she was most sensitive.

            "Mmmm," she sighed, but managed to push him away.  "Not tonight, I'm sorry.  I have the most vicious headache, and I'm simply too exhausted to do anything but fall into bed.  Probably put a little too much effort into my big debut tonight," she gave him a small smile.

            "Are feeling alright?" he asked, mildly concerned.  "You didn't eat much tonight."

            "Can you blame me?" she poked him gently in the chest, but he didn't play along.

            "Maybe you should see a doctor."

            "Maybe I just need a good night's sleep.  It's simply been a very stressful couple of days.  They're performing an audit on all the departments at work, which always means the whole company goes nuclear, plus meeting your son hasn't been exactly conducive to a healthy state of mind."

            "Don't think you can use this as an excuse to miss the wedding this Saturday," he warned her.  She has already made it known that she didn't feel comfortable with the idea.  She made a face at him.  "I mean it.  You will be there, at my side, the entire time."

            "Yes, sir!"  She saluted him with full military precision.  "Shall I be in street-walker attire, or modestly virginal?"

            His eyes narrowed, and he gripped her chin between his thumb and forefinger.  "It's Barbara's day, you were the one who suggested it be here, and I expect you to behave.  This is not about you."

            She nodded.  "I'm sorry.  I'm just a little nervous about meeting all those people."

            "Most of them will be from the police and DA's office, and their own families.  No one you should be concerned with."  He dropped his hand and moved over to the bed, sliding between the sheets.  She joined him from the other side, turning off the bedside lamp.

            Snuggling close, she whispered sleepily, "Was my singing that bad?"

            He replied, "I've heard cat fights with more melody."

A/N:  "Fallin'" belongs to Alicia Keys and "Superman (It's Not Easy Being Me)" belongs to Five For Fighting (although the rewrite is mine.)  No copyright infringement intended.


	11. There's No Such Thing As A Simple Weddin...

There's No Such Thing As A Simple Wedding (Pt I) 

            The entire manor buzzed with activity.  Workers were setting up the chairs beneath a large canopy on the back lawn, the florist had delivered five dozen white lilies to be artfully arranged about the yard and house, and the caterer had completely overtaken the kitchen.  It was to one of the waiters that Bruce was speaking when Mardi marched up to him, still in her dressing gown, her hair a wet mop, and her face drawn and strained.  "We have to talk," she announced loudly as he was in mid-sentence.  He finished explaining to the young man where to locate the champagne and which vintages were acceptable.  He barely glanced at her as he was completing the instructions, and by the time the waiter walked away she was positively livid.

            "Well?" he asked finally turning to look at her.

            "Here?" she cried.  "We can't talk _here_!"

            "Mardi," he started patiently, "I have fifty people arriving within the hour, and I don't have time for games."  He was worried though.  Her face was gaunt and pale and she had seemed overly tired and irritable the last few days.  He wondered if she had indeed come down with something.

            She grabbed his hand and led him upstairs to the bedroom.  After closing the door she quickly went into the bathroom and returned with a small white stick.  "Look!" she exclaimed holding it out towards him.  On the tapered end of the stick was a small sunken area.  Inside was a faint pink plus sign.

            He looked up at her.  "And this is supposed to be…?"

            "It's a pregnancy test, you dolt!" she shouted pointing at the stick.  "That means positive, as in I am positively pregnant!"  Her eyes were large and so dark it looked like the pupils had completely dilated.  Emotion caused her voice to rise to shrewish levels, and her entire body trembled.

            He looked from the stick thrust out like a weapon to her face, which clearly registered her agitated state, and chose possibly the worst question to ask.  "Are you sure?"

            "Am I sure?  _Of course I'm sure!  _I've only been puking my guts out for the last week and a half.  Besides, this is the third test I've taken.  They all said the same thing."

            "How did this happen?" came the second worst question.  "I thought you were…?"

            "I was!"  She turned from him and started pacing back and forth.  "But not everything is a hundred percent effective…_especially_ when you forget two days in a row."  She stopped pacing and slapped herself on the forehead.  "Stupid, stupid, stupid!"

            Bruce allowed himself a small smile before going to her and laying a finger under her chin, forcing her to look at him.  "It's all right," he assured her in what he hoped to be a soothing voice.

            "No, it's not!  I'm almost 40 years old – I can't be having children _now_!  And you.  You're already a grandfather.  This is ridiculous," she spat.

            "It's not that ridiculous.  There's nothing we won't be able to give this child and I don't believe it will be any worse off for having parents who are a little older."  He drew a thumb across her cheekbone tenderly.  "Once we're married I'm sure things won't seem quite so catastrophic."

            He saw the explosion shadowed in her face a mere second before the verbal diatribe was launched.  "Married?!  Who said anything about married?  This isn't the nineteenth century – a woman with child does not need to marry simply to protect her precious honor!  And for your information I don't know if I _want_ to be a mother.  I've never felt the urge to reproduce.  I'm not certain I would even _be_ a good mother."

            "What are you going to do then, give it up?  Or worse?  Could you do that Mardi?  Could you kill it?"

            Her face fell.  "I-I don't know," she replied quietly.

            "Then you seriously need to think about it."  She looked up at him with a lost expression that was as endearing as it was heart wrenching. He wanted to take her into his arms and make everything all right.  Instead he walked out the door.

            He had just finished giving directions to the photographer when he saw her descend the staircase in a soft pink dress, hair held back with pearl combs, and a thin string of pearls around her neck.  She had applied makeup, but the shadows under her eyes were still visible.  He nodded to the man and slapped him on the shoulder, then moved to meet her, which was fortuitous since she stumbled on the last step and would have fallen face first onto the floor if he hadn't caught her in his arms.  With a blush that only enhanced the paleness of her face, she steadied herself within his grasp.  "Sorry," she mumbled and tried to push his hands away.  "Got a little dizzy there."

            "When was the last time you ate something and kept it down," he frowned at her.

            She shrugged.  "I lost track."

            "Come with me," he instructed and took her into the kitchen, sitting her down at the table.  The counters were cluttered with warming trays, plates and utensils, and other miscellany the caterer was preparing for the reception buffet.  He opened several cupboards and removed a loaf of bread, a jar of peanut butter, and a banana.  Grabbing a knife from the pile of utensils waiting to be set out, he took the supplies to the table.  The peanut butter he spread across two slices of bread and added thin pieces of banana before pressing them together.  She grimaced at him as he cut the sandwich diagonally and placed it on a small plate before her.

            "You're kidding right?" she said, looking at the concoction skeptically.  "You don't actually expect me to eat this."

            "It's protein and potassium, which you are sorely lacking right now," he explained going to the refrigerator and pouring a glass of milk, which he set next to the still untouched sandwich.  "Plus it's very bland.  It should stay down easier.  Go on," he encouraged.

            "So you're a doctor now," she said with mild sarcasm.

            "My father was a doctor.  But mostly it's just common sense."

            "Oh," she replied softly.  Gingerly she picked up one of the halves and took a small bite from the corner.  She chewed thoughtfully, and then swallowed, chasing it with a swig of milk.  "Hey, that's not bad," she commented then finished the rest of the half.

            "Better?" he asked when she had finished.

            "Yeah, much.  Thanks," she whispered, leaning towards him.  She placed a hand against his cheek and kissed him.  "What would I do without you?" she asked softly in his ear.

            They both turned when a voice called out, "Hello?"  Barbara was standing at the outside door, a garment bag slung over her shoulder and a scarf tied around head.  "I just spent two hours getting my hair and nails done.  Am I interrupting anything?" she asked seeing them at the table.

            "Not at all," Mardi replied.  She stood up and cleaned up the mess on the table.  "How are you feeling?"

            "Excited.  Hi," she said to Bruce.

            With a smile he stood up and greeted her with a hug.  "People will be arriving soon.  You'd better go finish getting ready."

            "Yes, I know," she said.  "Have you heard from Sam?"

            Bruce nodded.  "He had to stop by the office, but should be here in time."

            "Need some help getting dressed?" Mardi asked.

            "Love it," Barbara smiled slinging an arm around her shoulder.  Bruce watched the two women disappear out of the kitchen and thought for once he knew what it meant to feel contented.

            Later he would recognize all the signs for what they were, realizing he'd let himself start to lose that edge that had kept him alive for so many years.  But he finally recognized something was truly wrong when a waiter bent over to pick up a dropped napkin and, as his jacket rode up his back, Bruce saw a pistol sticking out of the back waistband of his trousers.  From then on he was in full Bat mode.

            The ceremony had gone like clockwork, with the slight setback that Sam was almost fifteen minutes late, having to clear up a small problem at the office.  But he was waiting at the altar with a look of pure happiness as Barbara walked down the isle in her cream-colored pantsuit.  The vows were spoken, the rings exchanged, and the minister pronounced them man and wife in less than twenty minutes.

            Afterwards, the newlyweds and their guests moved into the house for the modest celebration.  The festivities were confined to the rarely used ballroom, decorated with lilies and other flowers, waiters mingling with trays of hors d'oeurves and champagne.  Dinner was scheduled to be served buffet-style later in the afternoon.  Light classical music was being piped in through the inter-room sound system.  A long table beneath a bank of windows displayed the three-tiered wedding cake.

            Barbara was standing with a small smile on her face as she admired the delicate edging of the cake when Bruce walked up to her.  She looked at him.  "It's beautiful," she said.  "Everything is wonderful.  Thank you so much for doing this."

            "You're welcome," he said warmly and bent to kiss her on the cheek.  They both turned to look out on the guests clustered into small groups and talking quietly.

            Barbara gestured to Mardi who was talking to Sam in the opposite corner.  "So I hear congratulations are in order," she murmured to him.

            "She told you?"

            "Yes."  She took a sip of her champagne.  With a wry smile she said, "Try and do it right this time, okay?"  Someone across the room waved to her and she responded, leaving Bruce alone as she joined them.  It was at that time, as he was surveying the party that he began to sense something was amiss.  The waiters seemed to be making eye contact and communicating with various nods, winks, and other signals, which in and of itself was not unusual, but he also realized that he hadn't seen any of these men before.  There was no sign of the young man who he's spoken to about the champagne this morning, and he hadn't seen the caterer in hours.

            That was when Sam's mother dropped her plate of appetizers.  She and her husband bent down to clean it up just as the waiter appeared at their side to help.  As soon as he saw the gun he felt his whole body tense.  The mess was cleaned up and the party resumed as normal – for everyone else.

            His eyes immediately sought out Mardi.  Whatever happened, he wanted her out of the way.  Once she was safe, he would pull Barbara aside.  Smiling to several of the guests as he walked casually across the room, he sidled up to Mardi and placed a hand between her shoulder blades.  To Sam he said, "I hate to interrupt, but I really need to borrow her for a moment."

            "Certainly," Sam replied.  "I believe I've left my wife alone for too long as it is."  When he was gone, Bruce took her by the hand and pulled her out of the room.

            "What's wrong?" she asked.  "You're hurting my hand Bruce."

            "I'm sorry," he said in a perfunctory manner, but his eyes were scanning the area, and his ears alert for all sounds.  For lack of a better place he led her to the kitchen, poking his head through the swinging door before entering to make sure it was empty.   Seeing there was no one inside, he pulled her after him.  To the left was another door, which he opened and thrust her through, ignoring her cries of protest.  Inside was the spacious butler's pantry filled with shelves of cans, jars, and sacks of food plus a multitude of cleaning supplies.  He flipped on the overhead light and faced her.  "Stay here."

            "Are you out of your mind?" she asked incredulously.

            "No," he responded seriously.  "You need to wait here until I come back for you."

            "But…" she began to argue when the gunfire interrupted her thought.  It was followed by several screams.  "What on earth?" she gasped looking towards the door.

            "Mardi," she shook her lightly to gain her full attention.  "Do you trust me?"

            "Of course," she whispered, eyes wide.

            "Then wait here and you'll be safe."  Giving her a brief kiss, he insisted,  "I'll be back for you."  He turned to leave, then paused at the door.  "If someone else finds you before I come back, tell them I was tired and went to lie down."

            She made a face.  "Like anyone will believe that."

            "Convince them," he replied urgently then stepped outside and closed the door behind him.  He realized this was going to raise some serious questions he'd rather not answer, but there were more important things to worry about now.

            He moved to go back through the door into the dining room when it suddenly opened inward.  One of the waiters, apparently performing a sweep of the house, pushed through with his weapon drawn.  Bruce reacted quickly, using the element of surprise to his advantage, by grabbing the gun with his left hand, turning his body away and pulling the man forward as he smashed his right elbow into his face.  The unfortunate fellow crumpled to the floor before he knew what had happened with a severely crushed nose.  He dragged the lifeless body into a far corner, trussing it up with several dishrags and tossed a tablecloth over it for camouflage.

            That chore finished, he revised his decision to retrace his steps through the house, opting for some covert outdoors surveillance.  Exiting out the side kitchen door, he made his way quietly along the perimeter of the mansion, towards the large block of windows that looked in on the ballroom.  He had just arrived when a small crunching sound alerted him to a presence behind.  He turned and pulled his punch mere inches from impacting onto Dick's face.  "I thought I taught you to be quieter than that," he groused.

            "I knew it was you.  I wanted to give you enough warning.  Don't need you having another heart attack."  He came up along side Bruce and both of them peered inside.  All of the guests were rounded up and stood in the far corner, hands clasped behind their heads.  Three gunmen stood guard over them.

            "Looks like we got at least five of them," Dick remarked.

            "How do you know that?"

            "Because I found five semi-naked, unconscious bodies in the catering truck back there."

            Bruce nodded.  "Make that four then; I took one out in the kitchen."

            "That's my old man," Dick smirked.

            "What are you doing here anyway?" Bruce asked him.

            "I just came for the show.  You know I'm a sucker for happy endings, even when it's not my own.  Anyway after the ceremony I was heading back down to the road to get my car when I saw these guys acting suspiciously around the truck.  Once they left I checked it out.  I was on my way inside when I heard the gunfire, so I tried the old cave entrance back there," he pointed over his shoulder, "but you've apparently sealed them all off."  Bruce nodded absently.  "So you got a plan?" Dick asked.

            "Yeah.  Take down all the bad guys," he replied dryly.

            "Ha ha."  Dick glanced into the room.  "So where's your girlfriend?"

            "Safe," Bruce replied.

            "Uh, you might want to rephrase that.  Look."  He pointed to the door.  A fourth man entered grasping Mardi by the elbow, hauling her forward so swiftly she fell to her knees before a sandy-haired man with a prominent scar underneath his right eye and a perpetual scowl on his face.

            Bruce watched the exchange between the scarred man and Mardi.  He asked her a question, which she answered, precisely as she should, then he gestured towards the one that brought her in, who then nodded in response and left the room.  The scarred man said something so distinctly to Mardi even someone unable to lip-read would have understood before placing the muzzle of his gun against her head.

            "Let's go."  He grabbed Dick's arm and propelled him forward.  "We don't have much time."


	12. There's No Such Thing As A Simple Weddin...

There's No Such Thing As A Simple Wedding (Pt II) 

            Her heart was about to clatter out of her chest as the creep with the scar stood over her pressing the gun against her forehead.  She wondered about the whole life-flashing-before-your-eyes concept; wondered if Darren or her mother or her grandmother would be waiting for her on the other side; wondered if there was possibly anyone on the planet more idiotic than she.

            She had done exactly as instructed, even though she desperately wanted to run after him.  But she had stayed, sat on the footstool with her hands clasped between her knees, concentrating on breathing and keeping the half of the peanut butter and banana sandwich in her stomach since the stale air and dust was making her incredibly queasy.  She made an effort not to speculate on what was going on or what Bruce intended to do about it.  The one thought she allowed herself was that he was probably attempting to contact the police and would be back once that was done.  She did not dwell on what would happen should he be caught.

            Then, like Little Miss Muffet in the nursery rhyme, she received a surprise visitor.  If it had been anything else she would have been fine, but it dropped down in front of her face with its eight legs and beady eyes, hanging on its silken bungee cord like an insectile thrill seeker.  The scream seemed loud enough to shake the jars overhead as she leapt up and backwards, tripping over the footstool and landing on her back with a painful thud that was at least useful in cutting off her cry.

            Dazed, she had lain there praying fervently that the walls were thick enough to cover the noise, hoping the spider would return to his web instead of landing on her face, and feeling the growing bruise on her backside that was going to become her badge of dishonor.

            Unfortunately, her prayers went unheard.  The door flew open and one of the waiters stood at the threshold pointing an extremely large gun at her.  "Get up!" he commanded and she did, slowly, wincing as the muscles in her back started registering their displeasure at her sudden landing on the hard floor.  "Come on," he said grabbing her elbow and forcing her back towards the ballroom.  Once inside he shoved her forward with such force her feet couldn't keep up with the momentum.  She shuffled a few steps before falling ungraciously to her knees in front of the big guy with the scar she would soon learn was the ringleader of the whole sordid mess.  "Look what I found in the kitchen pantry," the man behind her said.

            "What were you doing in there?" Scarface asked with an angry look.

            "Searching for something to eat," she replied using the excuse she'd come up with as she had been dragged along.

            "There's plenty of food in here," he commented, frowning.

            "Nothing I wanted.  I've got these weird cravings."  She swallowed, the lump in her throat.  "Because I'm pregnant," she finished, playing what she hoped would be her trump card.

            "I recognize her, Kyle," one of the other men in the room said coming forward.  She realized all the goons with guns were waiters serving at the reception.  "She lives here with old man Wayne."

            Scarface looked even more menacing as he scrutinized the attendees, and then turned his attention back to Mardi.  "Where is Wayne?" he asked in a hard gravelly voice.

            She took one deep breath and then said, "He was feeling a little tired, with all the work he's put into this, so he went upstairs to lie down for a bit."  Not one who was ever comfortable lying, she felt she'd spoken with remarkable calm and resolve.  Her eyes wandered to the wedding guests, all looking tense and afraid, with their hands clasped behind their heads, and she spotted Barbara who smiled and nodded reassuringly.  But there was something in her eyes, almost like she knew Mardi was lying.

            "Stan, go and find him.  Now!" Kyle yelled over her head to the man who had found her, and then he looked back down at her.  "And if I find out you were lying, I'm going to put a bullet in your brain.  Mommy," he growled, placing the gun against her head.

            Bruce was silently cursing himself for allowing the situation to grow so out of hand.  He and Dick entered through the front door in time to see the man ascend the staircase.  "Get up there and stop him.  Meet me in the study," he ordered Dick.  "Do not let him get away."

            "You don't have to tell me twice.  What are you going to do?"

            "Get some supplies," he said already moving away towards a secret reserve closet.  Three minutes later, Dick slipped down the stairs and met Bruce in the study.

            "Whatcha got?" Dick asked.

            "A little diversion," he responded.  "Get ready to move."

            The one called Stan had been gone for too long.  Another one had been gone for almost half an hour.  The leader, Kyle, was pacing and frowning.  "What's keeping them?" he asked the other two remaining men impatiently.  They simply shrugged in response.

             Mardi was now sitting in a chair, apart from the rest of the group.  She looked tired and worried, and Barbara had to wonder exactly how much she knew.  Bruce was obviously out there somewhere.  She couldn't hope he would simply call for reinforcements, would follow protocol.  No, he had to do things his way.  She shook her head, and then stepped forward.  "Are you going to tell us what this is all about?" she asked in a strong voice.  She could sense Sam tense up, but did not try to stop her; he knew she was a capable police officer and trusted her instincts.

            Kyle whirled around and leveled his gun at her.  "You.  That's what this is all about, Lieutenant Gordon.  Or should I say Commissioner?  You and your new husband, the DA, you conspired to put my father in prison in order to pad your own political careers.  You used my dad's case to get yourselves promoted."

            "That's an outrageous accusation young man," Sam came forward and stood at her side.

            "What's outrageous is that you think you can get away with it," the young man sneered.  "She provided the false evidence and you brought it before the judge.  Lies, all lies.  And now you're going to pay for what you've done.  My father died in prison, and I think you deserve no less."

            "What a minute!" one of his accomplices hollered out.  "You didn't say nothing about killing anyone.  You said it'd be an easy heist to clean the old guy out and you'd get your revenge by spoiling their wedding."

            "Spoiling their wedding?" Kyle scoffed.  "That's not good enough for them."  He frowned then.  "Where the hell are Stan and Eric?  They should be back by now.  Something's wrong."  He moved over to Mardi and pulled her out of the chair.  "What's going on!" he screamed into her face.

            "Kyle," Barbara said mildly.  "Let's not do this.  You can walk away now, before things get out of control."

            "Shut up!" he yelled over his shoulder.  To Mardi he said, "Tell me what's happening."

            "I don't know," she said, almost whimpering.

            "Stop lying to me!  You'd better tell me what or who is out there, or so help me I'm going to…" his voice trailed off, but he raised the gun to her face. 

            "I don't know!"  He released her arm and, with a sound of disgust, slammed the gun into the side of her head.  Soundlessly, she collapsed in a heap on the floor.  Barbara tried to go to her, but Kyle anticipated her move and covered her with the weapon.

            Without taking his eyes off Barbara he spoke to the third man in the room.  "Kenny, go find them.  I want you back here in ten minutes."

            But before Kenny could respond, there was an explosion as two smoke bombs were thrown into the room, filling it up with thick clouds and blinding everyone.  By the time it had cleared all three men were unconscious and tied up.

            He sat in a large chair in the quiet of the parlor, head back, eyes closed, breathing softly.

            "You can cut the act," the sharp voice cut into his brain.  He opened his eyes and peered up at her, with graying red hair, eyes bright and piercing.

            "Barbara.  Did I miss anything?" he said nonchalantly.

            "Get over yourself Bruce.  This is it, absolutely it."  Her face was hard, her lips a thin white line of tension.  This was not the girl who had emulated Batman and who had energetically leapt into the life of a vigilante crime fighter.  A harsh, cold woman had somehow slipped in and taken her place.  Where had Batgirl gone, he wondered briefly.  "This is the last straw.  You could have gotten someone killed pulling that stunt; hell, Mardi's lying unconscious in the library right now because of you.  And now I've got to come up with some reasonable explanation about what went on in there, when there's a room full of cops and lawyers who witnessed the whole thing.  I'm telling you, no more.  No more warnings, no more second chances.  I'm going to be appointed commissioner in a little over a month, and I'll be enforcing a strict no-Bat policy.  

            "You need to start acting like a retired businessman, because _that is all you are!_  From here on out Batman is history.  Finito. _Capice_?"  He started to open his mouth, but she cut him off.  "If you don't, then I suggest you find another city to live in."  She pointed to the portrait of his parents.  "They are still dead, Bruce.  After all you've done nothing has changed that.  Your parents are still dead.  You've also managed to alienate your son and let's not forget what happened to Tim.  Is this really something you want to keep reliving?"

            "Don't say something you'll regret Barbara," he growled.

            "The only thing I regret is ever believing you knew what you were doing."  She looked at him for one final moment and then turned on her heel and stormed out of the door.

            Bruce let out a long breath and then spoke into the emptiness of the room. "A lot of help you were." 

            The heavy drapes covering the windows rustled and a figure stepped out, walking towards him.  "I thought the great Batman never needed any help," Dick said with an amused grin.

            "Didn't you hear?  Batman is history."

            Dick chuckled.  "Yeah, Babs at full throttle is still a force to be reckoned with."  His face became serious.  "I'm sure she didn't really mean it." 

            Bruce smiled sardonically.  "Have you ever known her to say something she didn't mean?"

            "Don't sweat it okay?  Hey, I should be heading back.  Save me a piece of cake."

            Bruce nodded.  "Does that mean you'll be returning?"

            "Sure.  When I feel like it."

            "Just don't wait another twenty years."

            The younger man smiled fully.  "Count on it.  Maybe next time I'll bring the kids.  It's about time they learned about their grandfather the ogre."

            "Ogre?" Bruce frowned.

            "Gotta keep 'em in line somehow," Dick laughed and slapped him on the shoulder.  "Take care old man."  Bruce smiled as Dick slipped out.

            She woke up slowly, aware of two things: her head was a throbbing mass of pain, and someone was wiping her face with a cool cloth.  When her eyes opened she saw the elderly black woman smile at her.  It was Olive Young, Sam's mother.  "How are you doing, honey?" she asked kindly.

            "Uh," was all the reply she could muster.  Then she managed, "What happened?"

            "That man hit you on the head with his gun.  You've got a pretty nasty bump.  There's an ambulance on its way to take you to the hospital."

            "Mmm," she said.  "What happened after I blacked out?"  She looked around and noticed she was lying on the small sofa in the library.

            "Well, all this smoke appeared and we couldn't see a thing.  It took a few minutes for it all to clear up, and by then the three men were on the ground, and tied up.  The other two were found in the kitchen and upstairs.  Some people are saying that it was the Batman, but he hasn't been seen in years."

            "Really?" Mardi said trying to sit up.  "I thought he was dead?"

            "Oh I don't think that's such a good idea, dear.  Maybe you should just stay down," Olive said apprehensively.

            "I'm okay," she insisted, but her stomach was very annoyed at the sudden change from horizontal to vertical, and she finally lost her daylong battle to keep the sandwich down.  She bent over as it came back up, partially splattering on Mrs. Young's shoes.  "God, I'm sorry about that," she moaned.

            "It's all right, dear.  When I was carrying Samuel I was sick every day for the first month, then I was right as rain," she said with a smile.

            "That's a relief," Mardi replied with a small modicum of hope that she could actually survive nine months of pregnancy. 

            "Of course one of my sisters was sick the entire time for all of her children."

            "Oh joy."  She gingerly reached up and inspected the lump that had developed over her left eyebrow, yelping as she touched the most sensitive spot.

            "Mardi?" someone called out from the doorway.  She was so excited to hear his voice that she immediately leapt to her feet.  Her entire world became liquid and she was about to go down for the count, but then he was there to catch her.  "Twice in one day?" he asked softly.  "Better not let this become a habit."

            She leaned her head back to get a better view of him.  "I didn't know you were twins?" she asked as her vision doubled and swam out of focus.

            He frowned and scooped her up into his arms.  "I'm taking you to the hospital."

            "S'okay," she tried to tell him.  "Th'ambulance's comin'."

            "I think I'd prefer to take you myself," he assured her.

            "'Kay," she said, fighting off the darkness.  "Hey, d'you know Batman wuz'ere?"  Her voice trailed off as she sunk into oblivion, her entire body going limp in his arms.


	13. Broken Again

Broken Again 

            They returned home from the hospital late in the evening.  Though she had been pronounced as not having a concussion, she was severely dehydrated and low on electrolytes.   For two long hours she lay in a hospital bed on an IV to replenish fluids and much needed nutrients.  During that time she'd tried to piece together the events of the day, but had little luck.  Quite clearly and with great shame, she remembered her hormonal declaration about the baby and desperately wished she'd used a little more tact.  The ceremony stood out in her mind, but things got fuzzy around the reception.  Apparently there had been a revolt of the waiters and somewhere along the line she'd gotten bashed on the head.  Bruce was no help.  He'd gone to take a nap before the whole commotion started, which seemed odd to her, but she didn't press the matter.  The ER doctor released her with an anti-nausea prescription and an appointment with an obstetrician after she refused his suggestion to spend the night under observation.

            But when they'd gotten home there was a message on the answering machine from an hysterical Barbara telling him to turn on the news.  One phone call was all it took to shatter his world.

            "Bruce?"  He ignored her, eyes glued to the television set where he'd been sitting for almost an hour.

            The voice on TV droned on, "And to recap the top story, highway 589, southbound to Bludhaven, is at a standstill after a horrific 25 car pile-up occurred earlier this evening resulting from a tractor trailer jackknifing just before exit 30.  Rescue workers are still valiantly assisting those trapped amidst the wreckage.  Preliminary reports list fatalities at 15, and many more seriously injured have been rushed to both Gotham General and Bludhaven Memorial hospitals.  While many of the dead or wounded remain unidentified, we do know that one of those killed was Officer Richard Grayson, a member of the Bludhaven police force, who was off-duty and traveling home from Gotham.  Grayson was not killed during the initial collision, but while trying to rescue a woman from her burning vehicle that subsequently exploded, killing both of them.  Grayson is the adopted son of Bruce Wayne, famed industrialist and director of the Wayne Foundation, which provides much-needed charitable support throughout the city.  Mr. Wayne could not be reached for comment.  We're going to go live to the sight now with Brandon Kilmichaels reporting.  Brandon…?"

            The film cut to a nightmarish scene of twisted metal, fire, and smoke.   Mardi walked over to him and laid a hand on his shoulder.  "For heaven's sake, please turn that off.  Nothing's going to change."  Her voice was raw with exhaustion and emotion.  He reached down and thumbed a button on the remote, muting the sounds, but the images still flashed across the screen in bold living color.

            He grabbed her waist, pulling her between his knees, and leaned forward to lay his forehead against her stomach.  Running her hands through his hair in an effort to comfort him, she whispered the words that could never express her depth of sadness at his loss.  "I'm so sorry."

            With only the sound of the grandfather clock to fill the heavy silence, she felt her own tears falling at his display of grief.  Finally he pulled back slightly, placed a small kiss on her lower abdomen, and then looked up into her eyes.  "Marry me.  Don't take this child away too.  Please."  His voice was beseeching, his eyes wounded, and she started sobbing as the only possible response.  She threw her arms around him and cried into his neck.  

            The weather was appropriately dismal for the somber event.  Dark clouds filled the sky and a bone-chilling rain fell non-stop throughout the miserable day.  Mardi hated funerals, cemeteries, and wearing black.  Black was cold, the absence of all light, the symbol of evil.  It sucked the life out of everything it touched.  Black was death and of course, dearly beloved, that is why we're all here today.  Hallelujah and amen.

            She stood apart from the great gathering of mourners, beneath her black umbrella, dressed in a modest black dress with black shoes, black gloves, and a horrid little black hat.  She wanted to run out of the graveyard, flee the solemn faces and the flowing tears.  She wanted to put as many miles as possible between herself and Gotham City.

            But she didn't do that anymore.  Instead she waited beside some headstone of a person who had died years before she was even born and watched the people one by one press their hand to Bruce's and offer some words they hoped might comfort him, but words were never going to fill the hollow place in his heart, no matter how many times he heard, "So sorry for your loss."

            He didn't let them see that though.  He would nod and smile and thank them, and then start all over again with the next person.  Watching, she felt a tear burn a trail down her cold cheek.  _At least one of us should be able to cry_, she thought bitterly.

            Among the mass of mourners crowding the expanse of the Gotham Cemetery were a cadre of Bludhaven police officers dressed in their finest uniforms who had served as pall bearers and gave a traditional 21 gun salute as Dick's casket was lowered into the ground.  Mardi also saw the woman who was the ex-Mrs. Grayson with her new husband and three children – two boys and a girl – in tow.  Bruce had made an effort to approach her earlier and she had snubbed him with calculated malice.  Barbara was there with Sam, looking morose and stricken.  Mardi had come to learn that she and Dick had had a relationship when they were younger.   She overheard a terrible fight between Barbara and Bruce before the funeral started.

            "I can't believe you didn't tell me he was there!" she'd shouted emotionally.

            "He didn't want you to know.  He didn't want to ruin your day," Bruce patiently explained.

            "He wouldn't have ruined anything.  You're the only one who ruins everything," she cried vehemently.  "I didn't even have a chance to say goodbye!"

            And things had only gotten worse from there.  The media was on hand as if death were still as entertaining as it was in ancient Rome.  Especially the heroically tragic death of the son of the city's wealthiest citizen.  They were kept at bay at the gates of the cemetery by a posting of Gotham's police force, all determined to protect the sanctity of one of their own.

            The condolences showed no sign of slacking and Mardi really couldn't stand to watch her love pretend to be calm and self-assured when she knew deep down he was in agony.  So she moved even further away, glancing at the grave markers for lack of anything else to look at.  At the top of a long slope was a huge marble monument with the name Wayne chiseled along the top.  She blinked in disbelief and moved closer to read the names, Thomas and Martha, and noting the dates of death were identical, over fifty years earlier.

            She closed her eyes and sighed.  _How did I wind up here?_ She thought grimly.  A flip of a coin had decided her fate – heads Metropolis, tails Gotham.  That's all.  Where would she be now if it had come up heads?  Her hand came up and rubbed her stomach.  A baby.  She was going to have a baby.  A whole family for that matter.  The diamond and amethyst ring shined brightly in the bleakness of the day.  He'd kept it all this time, just in case she said yes.

            Turning she saw the graveyard had cleared and he was in the middle of a small group of remaining people, talking quietly, nodding every now and again.  Then his head came up and he saw her staring down at him from atop the knoll.  He nodded and shook hands with the men and then moved up to join her.  "How are you doing?" he asked when he'd reached her.

            "I hate funerals," she said miserably.

            "So do I."

            "Your parents?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder.

            "Yes."

            "I'm sorry," she said in a hoarse whisper.   Tears came flooding down and the sob choked in her throat as her hormones raged out of control magnifying her sadness for him a hundredfold.

            "Stop that," he commanded gently, handing her a handkerchief.  "Don't waste your tears on me.  I don't need it.  I'd rather see you smile."  She blew her nose.

            "It just doesn't seem fair.  You deserve better than this."

            "I'm glad you agree.  Are you ready to go?"

            "Home?"

            "Just long enough to pack a suitcase, then we're going to Metropolis."

            "What for?"

            One corner of his mouth went up in a lopsided grin.  "We're eloping."

            "Now?"

            "You're not backing out on me are you?"

            "Of course not.  But…"

            "But what?"

            "You just buried your son."

            "And he won't be forgotten.  Did he strike you as someone who'd want life to stop?"

            "Well, no but…"  His hands came up and cupped her face, his kiss cutting of her words.

            Pulling away he looked into her eyes.  "Marry me."  Helpless once again to the power of his charm, she could only nod.

            She was standing in front of the mirror in the public bathroom of the Metropolis city hall.  "Oh, I feel nauseous," she moaned.

            "That's just wedding day jitters.  All brides get it," the calm reply came from her left.  In the mirror she saw Lois Kent lean against the counter with arms folded and a slight smile on her face.  Lois and her husband Clark were friends of Bruce's that he'd called on to be witnesses to their marriage.  She was the managing editor of the Daily Planet while he was their top reporter.  They were an attractive and gregariously nice couple, which compared to the at times grimly solemn Bruce, made them seem to almost come from another universe.

            "No, it's the baby," Mardi replied and reached into her purse for the bottle of pills that the doctor had prescribed and that were worth their weight in gold as far as she was concerned.

            "Baby?" Lois responded with a shocked tone.  "You're having a baby?"

            Mardi nodded and turned on the faucet, cupping her hand beneath the streaming water and bringing it to her mouth to wash down the pill.  "That's why we're getting married."

            "That isn't the only reason is it?"

            Patting her face with the residual water on her hand, she turned to Lois.  "No.  It's just what finally got me to open my eyes."

            Lois' violet eyes crinkled with her smile.  "Well whatever the reason, I'm really happy for the both of you.  I can't believe someone finally snagged that guy.  Though if he'd given me a rock like that I might have reconsidered dumping him."

            "Excuse me?"

            "Didn't he tell you we had a relationship?  Well it wasn't really that big of a deal.  Very intense, but very short.  Years ago.  Don't you worry, once Smallville snagged my heart all other men ceased to exist."  

            "I wasn't jealous," Mardi tried to convince herself.  "I was just a little surprised.  He didn't mention anything about it.  Of course if he were to list all the women he's been with, it'd probably be enough to fill a phone book," she commented dryly.

            Lois laughed.  "Come on.  We don't want to keep the poor guy waiting do we."

            "Nervous?" Clark asked with an amused smirk.

            "No," the grim reply came.

            "Then why are you pacing?  That strip of linoleum is about worn away."

            Bruce stopped and frowned.   "I'm getting married," he stated to no one in particular.

            "I know.  And I must say it's about time.  I was beginning to worry you were just going to rot away in that house of yours."

            "Were you nervous when you married Lois?"

            Clark smiled brightly.  "Are you kidding?  You were there.  I searched for my glasses for an hour and they were in my pocket the whole time."

            "How did she take it when you told her about your alter ego?"

            "Typical Lois fashion.  She said, 'Smallville, if you'd told me this sooner, thing's would have been a lot simpler.'  Then she kissed me.  Haven't you apprised your bride-to-be about your nocturnal activities?"

            "No."

            "Do you plan on telling her?"

            "Not if I can help it," Bruce said and resumed pacing.

            A few moments later the two women immerged from the bathroom.  Mardi was dressed in a simple sleeveless beige dress with a matching jacket.  As soon as Bruce saw her he stopped in his tracks, visibly relieved.  He bent down and picked up a small bouquet of flowers from the bench and held them out to her.  "Thank you," she said taking them.

            "Shall we?"  He held out his arm to her and all four people entered the courtroom.

            Darkness had fallen on the city and she was looking out from the balcony of the honeymoon suite, marveling in the twinkling lights and the vivacity of Metropolis.  The door slid open and she felt him move up against her back, his hands gripping the rail on either side of her.

            She sighed in pleasure and said, "This city is so…so…"

            "Sanitized," he remarked into her ear.

            "I was going to go with breathtaking."  She turned around in the confines of his arms.  "You really are a Gotham boy aren't you?  If it's not dark and gritty it's not home."

            "Guilty as charged.  Room service has just delivered a tray full of food.  Care to come in for something to eat?"

            "No, not right now.  I don't really feel like food at the moment."

            He frowned at her.  "You need to eat to keep up your strength."

            "I said I don't feel like food _now_."  She reached up to gently tug on his ear.  "I'm sure I'll be a lot more hungry after making love to my new husband.  But if you'd rather go eat your filet mignon…"

            He lifted her into his arms and carried her inside to the large bed.  "There is nothing I'd rather do," he said before kissing her deeply.


	14. The More Things Change The More They Sta...

The More Things Change, The More They Stay The Same 

Gotham City, 2039

            The sun was setting in the western horizon as she pushed through the front door, dropping the suitcase with a thud.  The house was dark and quiet and she wondered where Bruce could be this late.  _Probably taking a stroll with that mutt of his,_ she thought.  She didn't exactly hate dogs, but when he brought the mangy half-starved creature home proclaiming it'd saved his life she'd had some severe reservations about keeping it; in the end though she didn't have the heart to refuse.  So she and the large, menacing animal he'd named Ace had formed an uneasy relationship of avoidance, and she was certain he eyed her throat with a particularly hungry longing at times.  

            Wearily she grabbed her satchel and went upstairs to unpack, and perhaps have a lengthy, hot bath to wash away the tension of travel.  It had been a long and stressful few days.  Her father had finally died of heart failure after thirty years of living inside his own world of dementia.  Funeral arrangements had been basic.  His body was cremated and a small memorial service held in his honor at the chapel of the nursing home he'd spent his last days in.  Most of her time had been spent dissolving his meager estate, which consisted mostly of the house she'd grown up in.  The sale of the house had gone smoother than anticipated so she was able to return several days earlier, explaining why Bruce was nowhere to be found; she hadn't bothered to inform him of her change in itinerary.

            She finished emptying the case and set it back in its place on the closet floor, within easy reach.  Eighteen months ago she had been promoted to Vice-President of Finance at Wayne-Powers, and had been required to take several overseas trips to tour its international branches.  She sat down at her vanity table and inspected her reflection in the mirror critically.  At fifty she was the youngest member of the executive board.  Small wrinkles were visible around her eyes, though frequent trips to the salon kept the gray hairs hidden.  Reaching up, she loosened the clip that held her hair back and let it flow down her around her shoulders, brushing it out with her fingers and massaging her scalp.

            Her eyes dropped from the mirror to a small silver-framed picture sitting on the corner of the table.  Three people smiled into the camera.  Correction, two people smiled broadly and one made an effort not to scowl.  She chuckled and picked up the photo bringing it closer to her face.  Isabella Martha Wayne sat between her parents with a huge, gap-toothed grin.  She was six when they sat for the portrait, shortly before she was sent off to the school.

            Mardi frowned at that thought.  It was the best school money could buy.  They visited often and she came home for a month in the summer, but it was difficult to be without their baby girl, who had Bruce's dark hair and her green eyes that may or may not darken when she got upset.  They couldn't know because she never got upset.  The girl went to bed with a smile and woke up laughing.  Even after the ear infection stole away her hearing she never had a sad moment.

            Isabella's sudden deafness almost seven years ago had devastated Mardi, but Bruce took in with characteristic aplomb.  He immediately learned sign language, which he then taught to Isabella, and before she knew it the two of them were participating in silent, animated conversations she had no hope of keeping up with.  They were like flip sides of the same coin, those two Waynes, different as night and day, but sharing a bond that was unequaled.  Isabella was an extremely bright and curious girl, learning to read by the time she was three.  Bruce began tutoring her daily in all manner of subjects, teaching the child a different language each week it seemed.  Mardi remembered coming home one day and hearing her five-year-old daughter greet her in Latin.  She was both impressed and concerned, but Bruce insisted the girl was like a sponge, soaking up every bit of information given to her.

            And yet she had still enjoyed playing, often spending hours with her dolls or constructing a giant castle with her blocks in order to play as a beautiful princess.  She was well rounded and happy, and loved everyone she came in contact with, but absolutely adored her father above all else, and the feeling was reciprocated two hundred percent.  He would sit patiently for hours with her in his lap as she asked questions from 'why is the sky blue?' to 'how do they get the creamy stuff inside twinkies?' and he would give each answer the same serious consideration.  He was the one who bought her first bicycle and held her tightly after she fell off and scraped her knee.  It was he who told her she could be anything she wanted to be.

            Then in her seventh year they had the two-fold problem of her hearing loss and above-average intelligence to contend with.  The schools in Gotham simply could not meet her special needs, so they made the most difficult decision to send her away to a very exclusive school several hours away, where she was receiving the best possible education.

            Mardi put the picture back on its place on the table and felt a sudden, urgent longing to see her husband.  An important stockholders' meeting kept him from joining her in dealing with her father's death, but she didn't begrudge him that.  She simply missed him.

            Foregoing the bath, she changed out of her travel clothes and into a comfortable pair of sweat pants and shirt before heading downstairs to look for him, thinking of something simple she could make for supper, something that did not require a lot of ingredients.  She'd reached the bottom of the stairs when she saw the young man, a boy really, walking from the kitchen towards the study with a mug in one hand and a sandwich on a plate in the other.

            "Excuse me!" she spoke loudly to him, causing him to look up in startled surprise.  "What are you doing in my house?"

            "Your house?" he asked.  "This is Mr. Wayne's house."

            She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.  "Quite right."  She decided on a different approach.  "Do you happen to know where Mr. Wayne is?"

            "Sure, he's downstairs," the boy replied.  "I was just taking him down something to eat."

            "Really?" she replied.  "Considering this is the ground floor and there is no basement, I find that incredibly improbable."

            "Well, I…" he sputtered.

            "Why don't you take me to him," she said sharply.

            "That might not be such a good idea."

            "It's the best idea I've had all day.  Or would you prefer I called the police?"  He shook his head.  "After you then."

            "Okay," he replied dubiously and went into the study.  She was beginning to question the boy's mental stability when she noticed the grandfather clock was at an odd angle to the wall.  She watched as he went behind it…and disappeared.  Swiftly she followed him through the hole in the wall that shouldn't be there, feeling her way along until the light grew bright enough for her to see.  They immerged into a gigantic cavern.  She could smell the damp sea air and heard the faint fluttering and small squeaks of what she assumed were bats.  The entire space was filled with equipment and paraphernalia the likes of which she'd never seen.  It was like stepping into a completely different world.

            While she'd stopped halfway down to stare open-mouthed at the unusual surroundings, the young man continued to the bottom and walked over to an immense computer console with a high-backed executive chair facing it.  "Here's your sandwich Mr. Wayne, and you've got a visitor."  The chair revolved slowly around and she wasn't the least surprised to find her husband sitting upon it.  Their eyes locked for a heartbeat, and then he simply said without emotion, "You're home early."

            It was ironic that the man who planned for every contingency, who feared no one, who fought and defeated the deadliest criminals to walk the streets of Gotham, had no idea how to tell his wife that he was Batman.  For fifteen years it simply hadn't mattered, it was a closed chapter of his life and bore no relevance to the current situation.  But then a month ago when she'd been on a trip to Japan and he had taken a walk late one night to help him sleep, everything had changed.  For a month he'd juggled the two lives as he had so many years ago, thinking perhaps he could actually get away with not telling her at all.  But now here she was, there was no getting around it, and she did not look happy.

            "You're home early." 

            "Well the house sold much faster than we thought it would and the weather was atrocious so I decided to come back a little earlier and _just what the hell is going on here Bruce?!_"  Her voice bounced against the cave walls asking the question several more times before fading out.  She came down the steps and he rose from the chair so that they formed a triangle with Terry who looked from one to the other with a baffled expression.

            "Mardi," he said conversationally, "this is my new assistant, Terry McGinnis."

            "What do you need an assistant for?"

            He ignored the question and continued the introductions.  "Terrance, I'd like you to meet my wife, Mardi."

            Terry blinked at him.  "Wife?  I didn't know you were married."

            She looked at Terry and rolled her eyes, then turned to inspect the vast cave, moving off towards his bizarre museum of crime.  "Terry, don't you have something you need to be doing?" Bruce asked quietly.

            "But what about her?"

            "Go on.  It's okay."  Terry scooped up his knapsack and moved off to a private area to change.  Bruce turned and saw she had discovered the glass cases holding the old uniforms of his and his allies.  She moved down the line, stopping to stare at the old Batman suit, one finger pressed against the glass.  He walked up to her.  "Mardi."  Gently he touched her shoulder.

            "Where did you get all this stuff, Bruce?  Is this some sort of eccentric collection?  Some people collect coins, you collect old super-hero costumes, is that it?"  She looked up at him, almost pleading with him to give her a plausible excuse for the insanity.

            "Mardi," he repeated sternly.  "You've always known there was something different about me, that part that scares you, the part you've done your best to ignore."  She tried to shake her head and tell him no, but he reached out with his free hand and gripped her shoulder.  "This is it, this is who I was, who I still am."  He turned her to look back at the case.

            "Why?"

            "When my parents died I wanted - needed - justice, vengeance.  This is what I did, and I did it well for thirty years, but I had to stop long before I met you."

            "The heart attack," she murmured.

            "Exactly."

            "And the problem with your back isn't an old football injury, or those scars all over your body aren't from a motorcycle accident?"

            "No."

            "So what are you doing now?"

            Before he could answer Terry stepped out in full suit, holding the mask in his hands.  "I guess I'll leave you guys alone," he muttered, moving off towards the Batmobile.

            "Wait one minute!" she called out sharply.  "You!  You're that terrorist who broke into Wayne-Powers last month.  You did hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of damage."  She looked back at Bruce  "I want some answers now."

            Terry stepped forward.  "I was preventing the delivery of a lethal nerve gas.  I'm no terrorist."

            "Nerve gas?  That's insane.  Mr. Powers would never allow something like that to go on in the company."

            "He didn't just allow it lady, he was behind the entire thing, _and_ he had my father killed to cover it up!"  He was growing visibly upset.

            "Terry," Bruce cautioned quietly.

            "How dare you spread such baseless accusations?"

            "Baseless?  Bruce, tell her!  And why is she defending that maniac anyway?"

            "Because he's my boss!" she exploded.

            "What?"  He looked at Bruce, who nodded to him.

            "Mardi is a vice-president at Wayne-Powers," he explained.

            Terry's face went from anger to astonishment to delight.  "That's great!  She can get the goods on Powers from the inside."

            Bruce put a hand on the boy's back and maneuvered him away as Mardi turned an unhealthy shade of red.  "Not he wisest thing for you to say," he advised, pushing Terry towards the car.  "Get out on patrol.  Contact me later."

            Terry slipped on the mask and took one final look at Mardi before saying, "Did you lose a bet or something?"

            "Go," Bruce growled and waited until the vehicle shot out of the cave before returning to his wife.

            "I get it," she said holding her hands out. "You can't do it anymore so you send a child out to do it for you." she asked coldly.

            "He's not a child."

            "Well he's certainly not a man yet.  What is he, 19?  20?"

            "17," he grumbled.

            "Oh god," she moaned.  "What does his mother think about it?"

            "She only knows that he's my personal assistant."

            "He's not even old enough to join the military and you've got him out fighting in your own personal war?"  She pointed behind her, at the Robin costume.  "And he's not the first kid you've involved, is he?"

            "Mardi, please don't do this."

            "Tell me it wasn't Dick, tell me you didn't put your own son in danger."  He simply stared at her.  She rubbed her hands over her face.  "This can't be real."  

            "I'm afraid it's all too real."

            "I need to be away from you right now.  I need some time to process this…situation."  Slowly she walked away and went back up the steps.

            "Mardi," he called out to her when she was at the top.  She looked over her shoulder at him.  "I'm sure I don't need to tell you this doesn't leave the house."  She simply nodded and disappeared from sight.

            He sat back down at his control center and resumed work on the program he was writing to gain access to a new government tracking satellite.  A short time later he was hailed on the commlink.  

            "You still in one piece?" Terry asked.

            "Of course."

            "So that was the old lady, huh.  Is she always so…_pleasant_?"

            "Only when she finds out I've kept a major secret from her for fifteen years."

            "Yeah, well, I guess I can understand that.  So you got any kids I should know about?"

            "One daughter.  Isabella."

            "Oh?  Where's she at?"

            "At a private school for the deaf."

            "She's deaf?  I'm sorry to hear that."

            "Don't feel sorry for her.  She doesn't."  An alarm sounded on the computer and a feed from the police department's emergency signal was patched through.  "Terry, there's a prison riot at the Gotham Penitentiary.  Several guards are being held hostage.  Go see what you can do."

            "On my way."


	15. Always The Last To Know

Always The Last To Know 

            The following morning she went in to work, telling her secretary to hold all calls and allow no visitors until further notice.  "There's the Executive Committee meeting this afternoon.  Will you be attending?" Melinda asked.

            Mardi considered skipping it since she was not even scheduled to be in until next Monday, but figured it wouldn't look very good for her if it were discovered she was in the building and blew it off.  She didn't need her life any more complicated.  "I'll be there," she replied and entered her private office.

            She sat in her comfortable leather chair in front of a massive oak desk that had been a present from Bruce upon her promotion, and booted up her computer.  Vice-President of Finance sounded like a big deal when engraved on the plaque over the door, but in reality it was a glorified term for chief bean counter.  She oversaw all aspects of accounts receivable and payable as well as monitored the annual budget, which for a company the size of Wayne-Powers was a considerable undertaking.  But in the grand scheme of things she was of little consequence, having to report directly to the Chief Financial Officer and indirectly to the Chief Executive Officer, one Mr. Derek Powers.  She'd met Powers only once, shortly after her promotion, and had disliked him immediately, finding him to be arrogant and cold (and who just happened to single handedly steal her husband's family business out from under him), but she did not let her personal feelings about the man to sway her loyalty to the company itself.

            Still, the accusations that he could somehow be masterminding mass genocide via some nerve gas, or that he'd ordered a man's death to cover it up was too outlandish to even consider seriously.  Yet Bruce seemed to believe it.  He'd asked her once if she trusted him, and she did, implicitly, even now after knowing he'd concealed something so important from her.

            Fingers moved swiftly across the keyboard as she logged in and entered the archives of Gotham's library system, connecting her to all published information in the last fifty years, looking for clues to his past as she'd done so long ago, but this time her parameters were different and the search returned considerably less information.  Several of the articles speculated about whom or what the Batman truly was while others debated his true motivations while making the streets of Gotham his own personal battleground.

            The few she found actually reporting on his deeds were mere sketches of conjecture and rarely was there a photo attached.  Those pictures she did find where some intrepid reporter had managed to catch the masked man swinging off on his jump line were grainy and shadowed and she was doubtful of the veracity of many of them.  There was one, however, that caught her attention.  He'd rescued a small boy from a burning high-rise and as he handed the child to a waiting EMT someone had snapped a photo.  His head was bent down and slightly away from the camera's sight line, but a portion of his face and jaw were clearly visible.

            Mardi pressed a button and instantly the picture was printed and shot out of a slot on her console.  She studied it closely, tracing her finger along the chin she knew so well.

            "Morning Mrs. Wayne," a cheerful voice said.  Her head shot up searching out the source of the voice.  He was there, on her windowsill, perched like a…well, like a bat.  He raised a hand and jumped into the room letting his gaze take in the well-appointed furnishings.  "Nice," he commented.

            "What are you doing?" she gritted through her clenched teeth.  "If anyone finds you in here…"

            "Don't worry about it, Mrs. Wayne.  No one's going to see me."

            "Purcell," she said sharply.

            "Huh?"

            "Within this building my name is Mardi Purcell."

            "Why, are you ashamed of the old man?" he asked disapprovingly, leaning against the wall with arms crossed over the blood-red bat symbol.

            "Hardly," she retorted.  "For your information, I've worked extremely hard to get where I am today, to earn the respect of my colleagues, but if they knew my name was on the letterhead it'd be gone like that."  She snapped her fingers in the air.

            "So you keep your entire marriage a secret for the sake of a little professional credibility?  Sounds like you need a new set of priorities."

            "It's not a secret, it's just not common knowledge.  I simply do not go around advertising it.  There is a difference.  Now do you mind telling me why you're here?"

            "I wanted to see if I could talk you into reconsidering helping us take down Derek Powers."

            "Us?  Does Bruce know you're here?"

            "No.  But I'm sure he will after you get home."

            "Listen, Terry…"

            "In this suit I'm Batman," he said in a low voice.

            "In that suit, you're just a child playing dress up.  My husband may not know better than to send children out to get themselves killed, but I hope you'll come to your senses."

            "I'm not a child."

            "Right."  Pointedly she looked at her watch.  "Don't you have to be in school now?"

            "Look lady, this is serious.  Powers is a very dangerous man.  He needs to be stopped."  He placed his hands on the desk and leaned forward.

            "Even if I believed you, there's nothing I can do.  My area is finance.  Unless he starts overspending the budget, I'm useless."

            "At least think about it."  He saw the picture on the desk beneath her hand.  "Takes a little getting used to, huh?" he asked thoughtfully.

            She looked down at it.  "Almost thirteen years of marriage and I don't have any idea who he really is," she sighed.

            "That's funny.  I've known him a month and I know exactly who he is."  She glanced up at him.  "He's a guy who sacrificed everything and devoted his entire life to helping other people and doing the right thing."

            "He could have told me," she insisted.

            "Probably worried about how you would react."  He walked over to the window.  "Have a nice day."  Then he was gone.  Wings shot out from his arms and he floated away, boot rockets thrusting him over the city.

            With a shake of her head she returned to her research.  An hour later, eyes sore from reading, she had an epiphany of sorts.  While Batman was an independent agent, he often worked closely with a certain member of the police force, trading information when feasible.  The working relationship had evolved to such a level that a signal light was often used in the night sky to summon the Dark Knight for a rendezvous with his accomplice.

            The name jumped out at her – Commissioner James Gordon, father of the current head of police, Barbara Gordon.  Bruce had told her he was good friends with her father as an explanation for their relationship.

            She grabbed the phone so quickly it jumped out of her grasp.  Finally under control she dialed a number and held it to her ear.

            "Commissioner's office."

            "I'd like to speak with her please."

            "Who's calling?"

            "Mardi Wayne."

            "One moment."  She was placed on hold for less than thirty seconds.  "I'm sorry, the commissioner is busy at the moment.  Can she return your call?"

            "I need to speak with her.  Today if possible.  It's important.  Can I schedule a meeting?"

            "Let me check her calendar.  She has a half hour open during lunch?"

            "Perfect.  I'll be there."

            "Wayne is still blocking the purchase of that munitions plant in Eastern Europe.  He has the support of most of the stockholders.  I have a considerable amount of money riding on this deal and I need a way to change his mind, quickly."  Derek Powers paused and steepled his fingers under his chin.  His assistant stood before him pale and worried.  That was precisely how he liked his people.  "So, tell me what sort of dirt you've managed to find about him.  And it had better be good."

            "Well, ah, sir, we really couldn't find anything damaging about Mr. Wayne other than what's already been published in all the major newspapers.  Professionally his reputation is spotless; personally, well, he never made an attempt to cover his, ah, indiscretions.  I'm sorry, Mr. Powers," the little toady whimpered pathetically.

            "Nothing?" Powers bellowed.  "Not one blessed thing I can use to blackmail him with?  This is unbelievable.  No one is without secrets."

            "If I may, sir, why don't you just ask his wife to reason with him?  Maybe she could convince him, you know how women are," he said with a simpering smile.

            Derek felt the blood rush to his head.  "What are you talking about you imbecile?  Wayne's not married!"

            "Y-yes he is sir.  Um, we found out during the records search.  Married by a judge some thirteen years ago in Metropolis.  I just assumed you knew because, um…"

            "Because why?"

            "Because she works for you.  She uses the name Purcell though.  Mardi Purcell."  Derek frowned.  The name did sound familiar.  "She's the new VP of finance," he supplied.

            "Ah, yes," Derek said leaning back in his chair already forming a plan.  He remembered meeting her soon after her promotion to the executive level.  Attractive woman in a mousy sort of way.  What she was doing with a fossil like Wayne he could not guess, but that was not his concern.  She might just prove to be a true asset to the company.  "There's an executive meeting today, isn't there?  See to it Mrs. Wayne comes to see me afterwards."

            "Yes sir!" his assistant said and practically sprinted out the door.  _Yes,_ Derek thought.  _That's exactly how I like my people.  Afraid._

            Barbara set down the bowl of tepid soup she was trying to eat.  Her secretary let Mardi in and then departed, closing the door behind her.  The two women looked at each other for a moment, and then Mardi stepped forward and placed a piece of paper on the desk blotter.

            Looking down at the old photo, Barbara considered all the possible reasons why Mardi would show a sudden interest in Batman.  Only one seemed plausible.  "He told you," she said simply and watched the other woman's face fall in despair as she sank into the guest chair.

            "You do know then."

            "Yes.  Why tell you now after all these years?" Barbara wondered aloud.

            Mardi frowned and shook her head.  "I found out by accident.  I don't think he was ever going to tell me."  She looked down at her hands in her lap, nervously twisting her wedding ring.  "I came over because, I guess I needed someone to talk with about this.  I can't seem to make myself believe that it's real."

            "I'm sorry, Mardi, but I can't be your confidante on this.  Batman is a vigilante, and that is illegal in this town.  You might want to pass that on to the new guy, if he happens to cross your path."

            Mardi stood up and walked to the window.  Thoughts and memories ran through her head in a jumble.  Dick and Barbara.  Bruce and Barbara.  A line of uniforms preserved in glass cases.  One distinctly female.  "You were one of them," she said distantly.

            Barbara pursed her lips together.  "Mardi I can't…"

            "Did you sleep with my husband?"  The question seemed to come out of nowhere and was spoken so softy, she almost believed she'd heard it incorrectly.  But she trusted her ears, and nearly laughed.  She liked Mardi, she really did.  The woman had given Bruce something to focus on these last years besides the loss of his personal mission.  And the few times she'd seen him with his daughter made her almost believe in fairy tales where there were true happy endings.  The mistakes he'd made with Dick, and to a lesser extent Tim, were made by a man who'd closed his heart off to everything except an obsession with vengeance, which did not seem to be the case anymore.

            And after all these years she was worried about a long forgotten liaison.  Barbara wanted to ease her mind, but the question was still far too amusing.  With a wicked grin, she replied, "Not recently."


	16. A Rose By Any Other Name

A Rose By Any Other Name 

            The meeting was even more boring than usual.  The head of marketing had taken up most of the time describing the advertising campaign for a new kitchen gadget that would revolutionize the way meals were cooked.  Mardi couldn't have cared less on a good day, but today her thoughts were just to full of other important details to give even the impression of interest.  Once the conference concluded, she was gathering her belongings to return to her office when the greasy little weasel she recognized as Derek Powers' personal assistant approached her with a completely insincere smile and said that her presence was requested in the great man's sanctuary, immediately.

            She entered the large office at the top floor of the building a little apprehensively.  After everything that had happened in the last 18 hours, this couldn't possible be a coincidence.

            "Mardi," he greeted her warmly from behind his desk.  "Please come in and have a seat."  She did, crossing one leg over the other and clasping her hands over her knee.  "Now I'm sure you're wondering why I asked you here," he said with a smile and then Derek Powers stood from his chair and walked around the desk slowly with his hands behind his back.  "Are you familiar with the works of William Shakespeare?" he asked out of the blue as he perched on the edge of the desk in front of her.

            Baffled, she replied, "Yes, of course."

            He nodded approvingly.  "The Bard's words are quite beautiful aren't they?"  Before she could even answer he continued on.  "One of the most interesting things he had to say concerned names.  Perhaps you'll recall the scene in question.  Will postulates that names have no true relevance, that, in his words, by any other name a rose would still smell as sweet, or perhaps in some cases the better analogy would be that the thorn would still prick as sharply.  What do you think about that Mardi?" he asked with a feral smile.

            "I'm afraid I don't have an opinion on the matter, sir," she replied warily, sensing that this was leading someplace bad.

            "Too bad.  I, however, do have an opinion.  As brilliant as he was, Shakespeare was quite full of it on this respect.  You see names do have a great deal of importance in this world. Well, take yours for instance."  He held his hand out to her.  "Purcell.  Hmm, simple, nothing that really catches your attention.  Maybe you could use a different name.  How about…_Wayne_?  Now there's a name with impact.  It just says something to me, what about you?"  He sat back to watch her reaction.

            "This is way you called me in here, Mr. Powers, to ask me about my husband?  Then for crying out loud, get on with it and stop playing these silly games."

            His face immediately hardened.  "I don't like it when my employees lie to me."

            "I've never denied being married.  Many women keep their surnames in business, it's not an uncommon practice."  She stood up.  "Yes I am married to Bruce Wayne.  If you're concerned you didn't get us a wedding gift, then by all means, consider yourself absolved.  Now if you don't mind, I've had a very…_interesting_…day, and I'd like to get on with the rest of it."

            "Sit down!" he bellowed.  "We are most certainly not finished here."  She did as she was told, but her patience was running paper-thin.  "Wayne happens to be a major shareholder of this company.  Don't you think your relationship is a conflict of interest?"

            "Not at all.  I am not an officer of the company; I am simply an employee.  And we do not even discuss business matters at home."  She rose once more to her feet.  "Unless you provide legislation saying otherwise, our relationship is perfectly legal, and frankly none of your business."

            "I'm going to tell you one last time to sit down.  You are not dismissed until I say you are dismissed."  Mardi was about to tell him where to stick his dismissal, but stopped with the words on her lips.  It was not the risk of unemployment that held her tongue, but what Terry had said: 'Powers a very dangerous man.'  So she sat and waited.  He returned to the other side of the desk and sat facing her.  "I have a little problem Mardi.  There is a factory in Eastern Europe I want to buy that manufactures weapons, explosives, whatnot.  The current owners can't seem to come up with enough capital to keep in afloat.  I, on the other hand, am in the perfect position to make this factory a very profitable venture, and I've orchestrated a contract with the military that would sweeten the pot even more.  This is a deal worth billions to me Mardi.  Certainly you can see that?  But there _is_ one problem, one wrench in the works, you see.  Do you know what that is?"

            Yes she knew.  She knew that Bruce had called an emergency stockholders meeting earlier in the week to rally them into defeating this proposal.  While they shied away from discussing such matters in regular conversation, some things were bound to come out.  "He doesn't like guns.  His parents were murdered," she said calmly.

            Powers waved away her response as he would a gnat.  "Yes, I know all about that little quirk of his.  What I need from you is to convince him to get over it.  This is going to make us all a lot of money.  I'm sure you have the means to change his mind."  He winked at her.  "All women have their ways of getting what they want, even if it means a cold bed for a night or two." 

            She glared at the perverted son of a bitch.  "I just got through telling you we did not mix business with our personal life.  Even if I did have my _ways_ I wouldn't do it.  It's his decision to make."

            "That is unfortunate," he frowned.  "But I see that there is no talking you into it, so I'll just leave you with one other unrelated matter."  He picked up a small data disk.  "It seems in the last fourteen months a considerable amount of money has been cleverly siphoned out of the company on a weekly basis.  All together, about 25 million dollars."  Tapping the disk with a finger he finished, "All the proof is on here.  The guilty party has been caught red-handed."

            "That's impossible.  I go over all the financial reports with a fine-tooth-comb on a quarterly basis.  There is absolutely no way that kind of money could have gotten out without my knowledge."  He smirked at her and continued tapping the disk.  "Oh god, you wouldn't dare," she whispered feeling the bottom drop out of her world.

            "Tsk, tsk.  Embezzlement may only be a white-collar crime, but with this kind money, I'd say you wouldn't get less than fifteen years.  Maybe they'd give you time off with good behavior."

            She closed her eyes, unable to contemplate someone being so thoroughly ruthless.  "What do you want?" she said quietly.

            "I've already told you what I want.  Once that factory is mine, this disk goes into a nice dark place where it will never be seen, but where I will always have access.  Do you understand?"  She opened her eyes and nodded.  "Good.  _Now_ you are dismissed."

            It was much too early in the afternoon for her to be home, but she was in the library lying on the couch.  She'd kicked off her shoes and they were scattered on the ground next to her blazer that had been casually dropped.  A glass of bourbon was resting on her stomach held loosely in her left hand while her right arm was slung over her eyes as if to ward off the world.  Ace padded quietly over and stuck his nose in her ear.  "Get away from me dog," she slurred slightly, not moving a muscle.

            "Ace," he called and the hound moved over to a corner of the room and curled into a ball to watch the scene.  Bruce walked over, picked her legs up, and sat, laying them back down in his lap.  He rested his cane against the side of the sofa and began softly massaging her feet.  "Care to talk about it?" he inquired.

            "I doubt you'll want to hear."

            "Try me."

            She pulled the arm away from her face and lifted her head slightly to look at him.  "Don't say I didn't warn you."  Her head dropped back and she took a sip of the amber liquid before beginning.  He was sure that wasn't her first drink of the day.  "It all started with a visit from your little friend."

            "Terry?"

            "You have other friends who dress up like they're ready to go trick or treating and show up on my windowsill?"

            "What did he want?"

            "To recruit me into your little war against my boss."

            "What did you tell him?"

            "I told him you should both be fitted for matching straight jackets and confined to adjoining hospital rooms."

            "Mardi," he chided.

            "Okay I didn't say that but it doesn't make it any less true."  She rubbed the bridge of her nose.  "Then for lunch I went and spoke to Barbara Gordon.  Perhaps you remember her better as Batgirl?"

            "Why?" he asked sharply.

            "I had to have some confirmation.  I wanted a different perspective on the matter.  I wanted someone to tell me it's okay that you used to dress up in a bat costume.  That it's _normal_."

            "Did she?"  He was slightly annoyed she'd disregarded he orders to stay quiet.

            "No," she said miserably.  "She wouldn't talk about it.  But she did give me a warning to pass on to Terry."

            "I'm sure I've heard it before."

            "Why didn't you ever tell me you had an affair with her?"  She slipped the accusation in so smoothly the hurt was almost hidden from her voice.

            "It was a long time before we met."

            "I think I still had a right to know.  Why is it I can't seem to walk anywhere without tripping over one of your old lovers?  On second thought forget it."  They sat in silence for a while as he continued to gently rub her feet and ankles.  "I haven't even gotten to the best part yet," she said finally.  "Derek Powers called me into his office this afternoon."  She sat up, pulling her legs out of his lap, bending her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them.  "He informed me that unless you stop blocking his purchase of that munitions factory he's going to have me arrested for embezzlement, to the tune of 25 million dollars.  I'm assured I'll get at least fifteen years in prison and that his evidence is airtight."

            Bruce felt his entire body go cold.  "He didn't."

            "Oh he most certainly did, but not before asking me to use my _ways_ to convince you."

            "Bastard," he growled.  Despite her flippant words, he could see the fear written all over her face.  She slowly rocked back and forth, lower lip quivering, tears shining in her eyes.  "Don't worry.  I'll take care of it."

            "How?" she asked in a small voice.  "You can't give in or he'll just hold it over our heads whenever you disagree with him.  And if you don't then I'm going to jail."  The tears finally broke out and rolled down her cheeks.

            "I will handle Derek Powers.  He's not a threat to us.  Trust me."


	17. Checkmate

Checkmate 

            "Bruce!  What brings you all the way up here so late in the evening?" Powers asked as Bruce walked towards his desk.

            "I think you can guess," he growled in response.

            "I can only hope you've come to tell me you've changed your mind about my little business venture," Derek replied with a slick smile.

            "Cut the act!  You don't really believe I'd let you get away with threatening my wife, do you?"

            "Your wife?" Powers gasped.  "Oh yes!  I do recall someone mentioning this morning that you were married to the lovely Ms. Purcell.  And what a pleasant surprise that was.  You should be congratulated on your excellent taste."

            "It won't work Derek.  Whatever files you've falsified are not going to stand up in court."

            Powers' eyes narrowed.  "Are you willing to put that theory to the test Bruce?"

            "I've had copies of this company's financial statements stored off-site since you took over.  If you take this any further I will have an army of lawyers take you apart piece by piece.  Then I will sue you for everything you own."

            "You're bluffing old man."

            "I never bluff."

            Derek's jaw worked tensely debating how to play his hand.  Finally he smiled broadly.  "There must be some misunderstanding, Bruce.  I never said Mardi was responsible.  In fact the data may very well be erroneous.  I'll have my people look into it."

            "You do that.  And I'm warning you Powers – don't ever try to get to me through my wife again.  I won't be so reasonable next time."

            He turned to leave the office and Powers called out, "She's quite the little hellcat Wayne.  I trust she's worth every penny you paid for her."

            Bruce gripped his cane hard enough to turn his knuckles white, but he did not respond.

            He found her in the bedroom packing her suitcase.  "I've taken care of Powers.  You don't have to worry about him anymore," he said from the doorway.

            "Wonderful," she replied flatly, pulling several shirts out of the closet, folding them and placing them in the case.

            "Where are you going?" he asked.

            "First thing in the morning I'm dropping my resignation off at the office, and I'm seriously considering telling that pompous SOB to pucker up and kiss my ass.  Then I'm going to go and visit my daughter."  She opened a drawer, removing several armloads of clothes.

            "How long will you be gone?"

            She looked directly into his eyes.  "Indefinitely."

            "You're not even going to discuss this?"

            "That's funny, Bruce, that's really funny."  She added a bag of toiletries.  "You lied to me.  There's no getting past that."

            "I never said I wasn't…"  He didn't bother to finish the thought.  It was a childish sentiment to assuage his guilt of omission.  It didn't work the first time he used it and would not go very far into making his case this time around.  "Is there anything I can say to make you change your mind?"  She paused and for one moment he thought she would renege, but then she closed the lid of the suitcase and snapped the locks into place.  This wasn't something she was going to simply laugh off.  Grabbing the handle she hefted the bag off the bed and walked towards the door, stopping in front of him.  "Please don't go," he calmly implored her.  "I love you."

            "I know, but that's hollow consolation for deceiving me all this time.  I did not marry Batman."  She moved past him into the hall.  "I'll call you tomorrow afternoon to let you know where I'm staying."  She entered one of the guest bedrooms and closed the door behind her.  He heard the soft click as she slid the lock into place.


	18. Backlash

Backlash 

            "Mr. Powers?  Mardi Purcell is here to see you."

            "Thank you.  Send her in," Derek replied into the intercom.  "Well this should be interesting," he said to the large man standing in the shadows of the corner.  "And far easier than I expected."  A few moments later the door opened and she walked through, dressed casually in jeans, a contrast to the normally flawless business attire she normally wore.  Derek smiled.  "Well, well, I just can't get away from you Waynes can I?"

            Mid-stride, she flung a disk into the air towards him.  It landed on the smooth surface of the desk and slid into his lap.  "Choke on that."

            He smirked and picked the disk up, looking at it as if he'd never seen one before.  "What could this be?"

            "That is my resignation effective immediately."

            "Now why on earth would you want to leave our little family?"

            "I knew you weren't a nice person, I just didn't realize how vile you could be.  I hope they nail your ass."  She turned to walk out.  Derek nodded to his man, who stepped in front of the door, blocking her way.  "What do you think you're doing?" she asked him, then turned around.  "Powers, tell your trained monkey to get out of my way."

            "You disappointed me, Mardi," Derek said as he leaned comfortably in his chair, "I asked you to do one simple thing for me and in return I get defiance and duplicity."  She looked at him in that hard way women used when they thought they had been offended in some way, like he was a bug floating in her soup.  He didn't like it.  "But you can make it up to me," he informed her.

            "Go to hell," she spat.

            She was trying for courageous, but he noticed that a hint of fear had crept into face, which he found far more interesting.  He was almost sorry he wouldn't be able to witness it first hand.  "What you're going to do is to teach your husband a valuable lesson in loss and at the same time you are going to learn exactly what happens to people who deceive me."  He signaled and the guard reached forward placing a hand on her shoulder.  She tried to squirm out of his grasp, her face growing alive with terror, but he was trained in many ways to kill with only his bare hands.  This time, however, he simply applied pressure to a pair of nerves in her neck, completely relieving her of consciousness in less than a second.  She fell limp into his arms.  Nodding with approval, Powers said, "You know what to do with her and make sure any evidence that she was here this morning is completely eradicated."

            "How do you want me to do it?" the man asked indicated the body carried in his arms.

            "Wayne deserves to suffer, and if Mrs. Wayne has to suffer for that to happen, then so be it.  I'm sure you can come up with something appropriate."  The man walked to the other end of the office with Mardi draped over his arms and he exited into a secret elevator.  

            Powers examined the disk in his hand closely.  Wayne had caused him a lot of trouble since he'd absorbed the company.  The old man just didn't know when to quit.  Well, Derek Powers was going to teach him to mind his own business finally.  The false skin of his hand started to crack as the burning radiation that composed his body broke through, completely incinerating the disk.

            The old man was not in a good mood.  Sure he rarely could be considered to be in a good mood, but usually he was at least civil (unless of course Terry had really screwed up, then all pretense of civility went out the window).  But as the new Batman entered the large cave that served as bat central, he immediately sensed that Bruce was on edge.

            "So how's things?" he asked tentatively as he took his suit out of his backpack.

            There was a grunt that could have been considered a response.

            "Anything going on out in the big city I should be aware of?"

            Another grunt, this one less friendly.

            "Should I maybe come back at another time?  You seem to be a little preoccupied at the moment," Terry observed.

            Wayne finally turned around to face him, and Terry secretly wished he hadn't.  His face was drawn into a scowl the likes of which he hadn't seen yet in his short acquaintance of the man, and he had seen his share of scowls.  Something had happened, Terry surmised, something really, really bad.

            "What's the matter?"

            The old man stood up and walked across the floor and then stopped with his back to Terry.  "My wife left."  

            "Left as in…?"

            "As in left me.  Now get out on patrol."

            "Okay," Terry said slowly, thinking he should say something to commiserate with the guy, but what was there?  'Sorry your wife left you because you were Batman'?  On second thought he probably could relate since he was sure if Dana ever found out she would rip him a new one.  "Mr. Wayne…" he started.

            "What time is it?" Bruce asked suddenly.

            "Uh, well…"  Terry consulted his wristwatch.  "It's quarter after four.  In the afternoon," he finished, not sure if the guy had been out of the cave for a while.

            He whirled and looked at Terry as if he'd just awakened from a nap.  "She should have called by now," he said forcefully.  Terry looked perplexed.  "She was going to turn in her resignation at Wayne-Powers this morning and then drive up to Isabella's school.  She said she'd call when she got there.  The drive is three and a half hours, four max.  She should have called hours ago."  His lips pressed together.

            "Yeah, well, if she was upset, maybe she just didn't feel like calling right away," Terry suggested, which was a mistake in hindsight.  The cold blue eyes fixed on him and for a moment he knew the old Batman was going to pummel him within an inch of his young life.

            "No," he replied instead with great force.  "If she said she'd call, she would call."  His brows furrowed in thought and he moved over to the large Batcomputer.  Almost to himself he said, "There's a transmitter in her car.  I can see where it is right now."  He stood there for a moment without moving.

            "Well?" Terry prompted.

            With a quick shake of his head, Bruce reached down and entered a command on the computer console.  Immediately a large map of the city came up with a single flashing dot.  He squinted at it.  "She's still in Gotham," he muttered.

            Terry walked up and stood beside him.  "Maybe she changed her mind.  Maybe she's coming back?"

            Without reply Bruce told the computer to center in on her exact location.  The map shifted and zoomed closer.  Bruce gripped the edge of the console tensely.  "The car's still in Gotham at least; it's at the bottom of the river," he said darkly.

            "Do you think she…?"

            "No.  There's something going on."  He activated the computer's communications system and dialed through to Commissioner Gordon's private line.

            "Gordon," she said as her image came up on the large screen.

            "Barbara, I need your help.  Mardi's missing."

            "Missing?"

            "She left this morning, but she never got to her destination.  The tracker on her car says it's at the bottom of the Gotham River about a mile above the reservoir."

            "Bruce you know a missing person report can't be filed for 48 hours."

            "Her car's at the bottom of the river!  Don't you think that's just a little suspicious?"

            "I'll send out a unit to investigate.  In the meantime I suggest…"

            "I'm going over to Wayne-Powers," he cut her off.  "That was her first stop.  I want to see if she ever got there."

            "Bruce don't you dare do anything stupid."

            "If you're concerned then why don't you meet me?"

            "Fine, but we're doing this my way, understand?  Police protocol."

            "See you there."  He cut of the transmission.  He turned to Terry.  "Get out on patrol.  I'll contact you if I need you."

            Terry suited up and took the batmobile out as usual, but this time he was seriously concerned with his mentor.  Bruce wasn't exactly overflowing with the milk of human kindness on a normal day, which he'd grown used to.  When the two of them had faced down the Jokerz that night outside the estate and then Terry'd had to help him inside only to discover the long closed-off batcave, the old guy had gone completely psycho.  If it hadn't been for the fact Powers had ordered his dad murdered, he and Bruce would have gone their separate ways permanently, but as it happened he needed what Bruce had to offer, or at least what Batman had to offer.  But he'd seen the look in those old eyes after it was all said and done, the smile on his face as he'd offered Terry a more solid partnership.  This was what the guy lived for, this was who he was.

            It had taken Terry completely by surprise to discover there was a Mrs. Wayne, but the way he saw it Bruce had turned to something besides crime-fighting in his later years, which was understandable, it just wasn't enough.  Were they happy together, Terry wondered to himself.  It seemed like a strange relationship, she was a lot younger and a little on the high-strung side in Terry's estimation.  But different strokes, as the saying went.

            And now.  Now he saw that there was one thing other than crime fighting that got the old guy worked up.  And if Powers was somehow behind it, Terry had a feeling his CEO days were history.


	19. Dazed and Confused

Dazed and Confused 

            Barbara had leapt into action the second the call was disconnected.  She'd sent one detail of officers to the river coordinates Bruce had given her and then she took a second with her to Wayne-Powers.  Fortunately police headquarters was only a few blocks away so she had a chance of getting things under control before he showed up.

            Things weren't looking good when he finally appeared, entering through the main door and striding confidently up the lobby.  She was waiting for him and stepped forward.  For one second she was afraid he'd brush right past her and she'd be forced to arrest him.  But he did stop and glare down at her as if demanding she pick a side and heaven help her if she picked the wrong one.

            "She hasn't been here," she stated boldly.

            "I don't believe that," he muttered and did push her aside.

            "Bruce," she said and did the unthinkable: she put a hand on his arm to stop him.  He turned back and she saw that Batman was still alive and well after all this time, and more than ready to take on all comers.  "You've got to listen to me now.  She did not come through the lobby and none of the secured doors have recorded an entrance using her pass card since yesterday afternoon.  No record of her parking in the garage, no footage of her on any of the security cameras, no witnesses.  Powers has agreed to talk to me, to us, but you have to understand this is a dead end."

            He didn't respond in words but the look on his face was all she needed.  Together they rode the elevator to the very top of the skyscraper.  A nod by the secretary authorized their entrance into the innermost sanctum.  Derek Powers rose from his desk as they walked through the door and greeted them with a smile and an outstretched hand towards Barbara.

            "Commissioner, it's been too long.  Not since Sam's campaign party last year I believe."

            She barely touched his hand and opened her mouth to speak when Bruce interrupted.  "Where is she Powers?"

            "I understand this has something to do with your wife, correct?" he replied with the innocence of a born politician.

            "She's missing."

            "I assure you I haven't seen her since yesterday afternoon.  Surely she came home last night?" he asked.

            "You know she did," Bruce growled in response.  "She was coming here this morning to give you her resignation."

            "Well as disappointing as that is to hear, it's the first I've heard about it."

            Before any more could be said, Barbara's radio squawked to get her attention.  "Gordon here."

            "Commissioner, we've found the car.  They're bringing it up now."

            "Is there anybody in it?  Is there a body?" she asked in a tight voice, not wanting to look up into his eyes.

            "Just a second, it's just breaking the water now."  Seconds ticked by in tense silence as three people waited to hear the worst.  "Okay I can see now.  No Commissioner, no body.  But the door's open.  Looks like it may have sprung on impact.  The body could have floated upstream," the voice said obliviously.

            "Understood, sergeant.  Have them drag the river.  Gordon out."  Looking up she could have sworn she saw the hint of a frown crease Derek Powers' perfect countenance, but then Bruce was on him, gripping the lapels of his coat and sneering in his face.

            "What did you do!?"  He shook him like a rag doll.

            Barbara stepped in and pulled at his arm.  "Bruce, get off of him now!  Don't do it this way or I can't help you."  He released his grip and turned to her.

            Powers stumbled back several steps.  "You are a menace Wayne," he said smoothing down his jacket.  "Don't blame me because you didn't keep a short enough leash on your woman."

            Ignoring him she pulled Bruce closer to the door.  "We have procedures, Bruce, and attacking people is not one of them.  Besides, she may very well still be alive."  But even as the words escaped her mouth her gut knew better.  Instinct told her that something very bad had happened and that more than likely Derek Powers was behind it, but she was a cop and needed hard evidence, not instinct.   The look on his face told her he believed it even less than she did.  This was not a man who had survived a lifetime of darkness on false hope.  "I'll start at the scene and work my way back," she said in a lowered voice.  "Hopefully the trail will lead back to him."  He shot one last look at Powers and then stalked out the door.

            From behind her, Barbara heard, "Someone should commit that senile old coot before he hurts someone."   With a small shake of her head, she left the office.

_            The mid-afternoon sun shone through the large windows of the library, warming it up to almost uncomfortable levels, but that was how she liked it.  The warmer the better.  He walked into the room and saw her sitting sideways on the couch engrossed in a book held in her hands.  Isabella was napping in her playpen not too far away and she was taking advantage of a rare quiet moment to herself.  Slowly he walked the perimeter of the room with the stealth of a man more comfortable with shadows, coming up behind her.   He walked without pain, the twinges in his back mere whispers of the agony that would force a cane upon him in a decade later._

_            Once he'd reached his mark he bent down and placed his lips against the soft skin of her exposed neck.  After an initial gasp of surprise, she sighed and said, "Mister, that feels wonderful, but if my husband finds you you're likely to get your head knocked off."_

_            "That's a risk I'm willing to take," he whispered into her ear._

_            She turned her head towards him.  "Mr. Wayne, are you trying to seduce me?" she asked playfully._

_            "What if I am?"_

_            "Think about your heart.  You don't want to overtax yourself."_

_            He wrapped an arm around her waist.  "For you I could leap tall buildings."_

_            Her lips spread into a broad smile and she cupped his cheek with her palm.  "Have I told you recently how much I love you?"_

_            His brow furrowed, giving the impression of serious thought.  "I think it's been awhile," he responded._

_            Her arms snaked around his neck and she opened her mouth to speak, but then the baby started to cry and…_

            …He woke up.  Bats rustled overhead, lights blinked incessantly on the console before him, and Ace sat with his head on Bruce's lap making soft whimpering noises in his throat.

            "Talking in my sleep again, boy?"  The large dog looked up at him with brown eyes and then licked his hand once.  "Sorry about that," he muttered and scratched the dog behind the ears.

            Two weeks had come and gone without any sign.  Nothing had netted any results.  Not dragging the river, not checking all the hospitals in the entire city, not even canvassing the surrounding neighborhoods in a door-to-door search.  Officially it was stamped an accident with Mardi missing presumed dead.  No evidence of foul play Barbara said, nothing they could use against Powers.  She'd vanished completely and he had no hope of ever seeing her alive again because if she was alive she surely would have called by now.  If she was alive without at least contacting him that would mean she had intentionally disappeared.  Now all that seemed important was obtaining a sense of closure and finding the courage to tell Isabella that her mother was gone.  Forever.

            "Mr. Wayne?"  The voice was behind him and he hadn't even heard him come in.  Terry was growing almost as quiet as he was.  "Are you okay?" the boy asked hesitantly.

            "Yes."

            "No word?"

            "No."

            "Should I, maybe, you know…?"

            "Go to work.  Those smugglers we've been watching are heading out tonight.  You need to stop them."

            "Right.  But I was thinking that maybe the police missed…"

            "Now Terry.  They're not going to wait around for you."

            "Sure."  He moved off and Bruce heard the faint rustling as he exchanged the clothes of a normal teenager with those of a masked crime fighter.  When he was done Bruce tracked his movements as he walked to the car.

            "Terry," he called out, still not bothering to turn around.

            "Yes?"

            "What are you doing on Saturday?"

            "Catching up on my sleep, I hope."

            "Care to drive me upstate?"

            "Uh, sure, no problem.  What's upstate?"

            "My daughter."

            Once Terry had left, Bruce sat in the solitude of the command center he had created, alone again, just like always.  He had never once considered that he would outlive her.  He had never considered it at all.

            It was strictly dumb luck that she was even alive.  Luck that the over-muscled Neanderthal in Powers' employ was too dumb to engage the safety harness or to completely close the door before sending the car careening down the slopped riverbank or even to stick around to see the job finished properly.

            Awakening as the frigid, foul smelling water crept up her legs, disoriented and partially paralyzed, she'd floated out into the river's current before the car was completely immersed, barely managing to keep her head above water, but she'd learned to swim before even taking her first steps and natural instinct took over allowing her to slowly propel herself to the opposite edge.  There she'd lain on the dirty riverbank not thirty yards from a group of street people huddled around a barrel fire who looked at her as if she were a creature from the deep.  Finally able to stand, she'd wandered around the city cold and confused and most importantly frightened with no real destination in mind.  Hours later she stopped and realized she knew where she was, recognized the neighborhood, and heaved a sigh of relief as she staggered the last few steps to the door.

            Now over two weeks later she sat in the cozy kitchen and watched her old friend and roommate clean up the breakfast dishes, wondering why nothing she cooked ever smelled so good.  To her right in a highchair was Jesse's youngest child, an eighteen-month-old girl with bright eyes and hair sticking out in random corkscrews.  She was alternating between eating and playing with a piece of toast coated with peanut butter.  Occasionally she'd look up at Mardi and grin.  Jesse's husband and three boys had gone down to the local park for a Saturday game of pickup basketball.

            "Mardi, look at this," Jesse said and turned up the small TV sitting on the kitchen counter.  On the news was archived footage of her car being pulled out of the Gotham River with a voice-over commenting that after two weeks of fruitless searching, Mardi Purcell Wayne was presumed dead.  "Well?" Jesse asked.

            "Well what?"

            "Honey, you know you can stay here as long as you like, but are you considering what this is doing to your family?"

            "What am I supposed to do Jesse?  No one's ever tried to kill me before.  I'm a little hazy on the particulars."

            "Go to the police!  That's what they're there for."

            Mardi shook her head emphatically.  "I underestimated him once, I don't intend to do it again.  As long as everyone thinks I'm dead, then I'm safe."

            "And Bruce?  What about him?"

            "It's complicated."

            Jesse walked over and sat down, still holding the dishtowel in one hand and gripping Mardi's hand with the other.  "What are you going to do?"

            "I can just leave the city altogether.  I'll go somewhere and start over.  It's not like I haven't done that before."

            The grip on her hand tightened.  "What about your little girl?  You're just going to leave her too?"

            "I could, you know, swing up and get her.  We could travel around together.  It'd be fun."

            "Listen to yourself!  First of all once you did that everyone would know you were still alive.  You think he's just going to let you go off and take her away without a fight?  Besides, haven't you done enough running for one lifetime?"

            Exhausted, Mardi dropped her head down onto the table and closed her eyes.  The baby threw pieces of half-chewed bread into her hair and Jesse gently squeezed her hand.  "I miss him," she mumbled helplessly into the Formica top.

            "And?" Jesse prompted.

            "And I still love him."

            "So what are you going to do about that?"

            Mardi groaned and raised her head.  She looked at the child and said, "Get out while you still can, kid, she's relentless."  She heard Jesse make a sound and felt the towel slap against her arm.  The girl giggled happily and pounded the tray in front of her.

            It was the hardest decision she had ever had to make.  If she went home it would be like signing her own death warrant, but if she left for good, if she turned her back on those she loved more than anything else, it would be like death itself.


	20. Daddy's Little Girl

Daddy's Little Girl 

            "Daddy!"  Isabella Wayne rushed forward and embraced her father, arms barely meeting around his waist.  She was two months shy of her thirteenth birthday and extremely tall for her age, the top of her head almost reaching his shoulder.  Her long black hair was braided down her back, styled by her roommate, Tiffany.  She wore the mandatory uniform of the Bellweather Academy: white oxford shirt with the crest embroidered on the left pocket and blue and green plaid skirt, with white socks and brown loafers.  Because it was Saturday they weren't required to wear the navy blue blazer.  If anyone had bothered to ask Isabella her opinion on the outfit she would have told them to burn it, but no one did.

            The Bellweather Academy was as boring as it was exclusive.  It had started out as your run-of-the-mill prep school, but more and more wealthy families started sending their special needs kids there, the deaf, the blind, the handicapped.  Soon that's what they started catering to, offering superior education for those kids who didn't fit in to regular classes.  And that was the biggest problem in Isabella's opinion.  To her being deaf was like having dark hair: it was just a part of her.  She got along fine with it.  She could lip read in five languages, not to mention signing.  She didn't care for signing though, except when she and Tiffany could have secret conversations.  Then it was fun.

            She hated the school even more than she hated the uniform and had become slightly rebellious, but she was a good girl and never caused more than a little harmless mischief, like sneaking into the kitchen and dumping a load of pepper on the headmaster's supper.  She hadn't been caught that time, but there were others.  As far as she knew they'd never called her parents for those pranks though, not wanting to bother such important people with trivial matters like toilet papering the dorm halls or instigating a food fight in the cafeteria or breaking into the nurse's office and stealing a box of rubber gloves to make water balloons.

            But aside from being known as a troublemaker, she was also the top student at the school, excelling in every class she took, and had even started tutoring the younger kids (although what she taught them was not always from the curriculum).  For some reason she remembered everything she was told or read.  Her dad called it an eidetic memory or something like that.  Didn't matter.  She was tops and of course all the kids wanted to cheat off of her, which she would never, ever do.  Of all the pranks she pulled, she knew her dad would be most upset if he found out she cheated and he would give her that disappointed look, that no-child-of-mine look.  She'd only been on the receiving end of it once before and she had no intention of _ever_ seeing it again.  It was about three years ago when her mom had refused to take her to a movie over spring break simply because she had put a frog in some girl's bed.  Isabella was furious because this was _the_ movie everyone was going to see and she would be the only one in school not able to talk about it.  So she'd gotten angry and screamed, "I wish you were dead!"  Her dad had been in the room at the time and that was when she got The Look, and it had scared her more than anything else in the whole world.  Calmly he told her to go to her room and wait for him.  A few hours later he'd come in and sat on the bed beside her and held her as she trembled.  He looked into her eyes and carefully explained how her mom's mother had died when she was very young and how both his parents were killed right in front of him in a terrible way.  Furthermore, he went on, all life is precious and we must all do our part to preserve it.  It was an important lesson, he said, and he hoped she'd learned it well.  She had, and she made a vow to herself never to upset her father like that again.

            Now though, as she stood in the headmaster's office, she was a little concerned.  If her dad was here on an unscheduled visit, something had to be wrong.  She looked up into his face and smiled.  Surely they hadn't told him about hiding Mrs. Peabody's lesson plan?

            He smiled back in his dad-way.  She knew some people considered him grim and dour, thought he had no sense of humor.  Her mom had once said that he couldn't laugh if his life depended on it.  But Isabella knew better.  He smiled at her all the time and while he didn't laugh outright at her, she knew when he was amused with her, as opposed to those times when she just annoyed.  "How are you?" he asked looking directly at her.

            She grinned up at him and held up one hand with her forefinger and thumb touching.  "A-ok."  She spoke with only a slight distortion that people who can't hear their own voices get.  The school had a class specifically designed to teach the students to moderate their voices.  She looked around the office.  "Where's Mom?"

            His face seemed to fall at that, but he simply said, "She's not here."

            "Oh.  What are you doing here?" she asked innocently.

            "Taking you home."

            Her eyes widened.  Were they kicking her out?  "Why?" she squeaked.

            "Because we missed you too much," he said, bending down and kissing her on the forehead.  When he raised back up he said, "Now go pack your things."  

            Relief flooded through her.  She clapped her hands together and then turned and ran back to her dorm room.  She couldn't wait to tell Tiffany she was finally getting sprung.  She wondered if Dad had brought up public school with Mom.  Her mom could be so rigid about things like that.  She thought Isabella wouldn't be able to handle it 'out there'.  She was always so worried, but she had no idea what her daughter was really capable of.

            "I'm so sorry to hear about your wife, sir," the headmaster spoke to Bruce from behind his desk.

            Bruce looked him over.  "You haven't said anything to her?"

            "No sir, absolutely not."  He shook his head.  "And we made sure to discourage TV time to avoid seeing it on the news."

            "Good," Bruce nodded.  

            "Ah, Mr. Wayne, there is the matter of the damage bill.  I hate to bring it up, but if you are withdrawing her then we do need to settle up."  Bruce blinked at the man, who seemed almost rapturous at the thought of finally getting rid of her.  He could see why Isabella disliked him.  He'd actually found the pepper story amusing, and insisted they not tell her that she'd had been discovered.  Of course it had cost him a new set of bleachers for the gymnasium.

            "I'll have my accountant send you a check on Monday."

            "Very good sir."

            They waited without speaking until she returned carrying a large suitcase.  "Got as much as I could in here," she declared, dropping it down with a loud thud.

            "Fine.  We'll have them send on the rest of your things."

            "So I'm really leaving for good?" she asked him.  He nodded.  "Am I going to public school?"

            "We'll see."  He grabbed the bag and started out the door as she skipped along beside him.  Outside Terry was leaning casually against the car.  He straightened as he spotted them coming down the walk, reaching out to take the bag from Bruce and putting it in the trunk.  When he came back around Bruce said, "Terry, I'd like you to meet Miss Isabella Wayne." 

            Terry smiled at her and then said,  "How do you do?" in an exaggerated way that made her giggle behind her hand.  He looked up at Bruce.

            "Isabella lip reads with almost perfect accuracy.  You don't need to enunciate so much."  Looking down at his daughter he said, "This is my friend, Terry McGinnis."

            She looked up at the young man and grinned, her cheeks flushing pink.  "Hi," she said holding out her hand for him to shake.  "You can call me Bella.  That means 'beautiful one'," she informed him.  Bruce frowned.  The only person to ever call her Bella was Mardi.  He knew the children at the school called her Izzy, though they never dared use the nickname in his presence.  She turned to him then and made several emphatic gestures with her hands.

            He scowled down at her and said, "Isabella, you know we do not use sign language to talk about people in front of them."  She giggled at the reprimand and ran around the car, climbing in the passenger door.

            "Precious," Terry commented.  "What did she say?"

            "She said you are the cutest boy she has ever seen," he paraphrased the message uncomfortably.

            "Oh.  Wow."  He smiled and nodded.  "So I'm cute.  Cool.  Hey!" he cried as the tip of Bruce's cane pinned him at the chest.

            "Don't even think about it," the older man growled.

            "Think about what?" Terry cried.  "She's only a kid for pete's sake!"

            "Exactly.  And don't you forget it."

            Terry shook his head as he slipped behind the wheel and Bruce walked around to get in the other side.  Then they hit the road.  Isabella sat between them, offering a running commentary.  She didn't even bother to see if they were paying attention as she told them how she pointed out to her math teacher that a problem on last week's exam was inaccurate or how she performed the best gymnastic routine in their last competition or how she was so sick of spaghetti and meatballs on Saturdays and could they please go out to dinner tonight, preferably for Chinese?  After about forty-five minutes of non-stop chatter she yawned and Bruce slipped his arm around her.  She leaned her head against his chest and shortly she was snoring softly.

            "So you going to tell her the truth?  About Powers?" Terry asked sullenly.  Bruce knew the young man was thinking about the loss of his own father at the hands of Derek Powers.  He would give anything to not have to deliver such pain to his child.

            "I don't know," he replied. 

            Isabella wasn't sleeping completely, though long car rides always made her drowsy. Leaning against her father, just enjoying being close to him, she felt the deep rumble in his chest as he spoke with Terry.

            She remembered sounds, sort of.  Often she would try and remember what sounds went with certain things, like she would drop a fork to the floor and try to recall what the clatter would sound like.  But more often than not she really didn't care.  After all, she could just turn her head or close her eyes when she didn't like what someone was telling her, which she usually did when Headmaster Pickles (And who could refuse picking on a man with a name like Pickles?) was reprimanding her for something she had done.  Silence was golden to her.

            The only sound she really missed was her father's voice.  She remembered sitting in his lap as a little girl and listening to him read to her, and not those silly children's stories either.  He read big books with difficult words, and often he would quiz her afterwards.  His deep, serious voice always comforted her, never spoke to her like she was a child; it was music to her ears, and it was the one thing she would give anything to hear again.

            Finally the gentle vibrations from the car became too overwhelming and she drifted to sleep, happy that she was finally going home for good.


	21. Homecoming

Homecoming 

            Mardi stepped out of the car, thanked Jesse for the lift, and then waved goodbye to her friend as she drove away.  The Saturday afternoon sun had almost completed its slow journey down to the horizon.  Decisions had been made, action taken, and now all that was left was for music to be faced.  Swallowing down her fear she went inside the house to find it completely empty.  He was nowhere to be found.  Not upstairs, not downstairs, not in his little play area in the caves, though the latter she could only assume because the clock entrance was closed up and they hadn't bothered to give her the secret password, handshake, decoder ring, or whatever was needed to open it.  In the backyard she spotted Ace lying next to his doghouse.  He looked up at her skeptically, as if to say 'What are you doing back?'  Dismissing the animal she walked back inside and wondered where he could be.

            In the kitchen she searched the refrigerator for a bite to eat when she heard sounds out front.  Pushing through the door she made her way down the hall and the first thing she spotted was Isabella, who noticed her at the same time.  "Mom!" the girl cried happily and ran to her.

            Mardi drew her into a big hug.  Pushing her back a little she said, "Bella, sweetheart, what are you doing home?"

            The girl cocked her head and squinted her eyes as if wondering if she read the question correctly.  "What do you mean?  Didn't you know Dad was picking me up?"

            Mardi looked over her head and saw him standing there, glowering at her in a way that for a moment made her think being dead right now would actually be preferable.  Arranging her face in a welcoming smile to cover her growing anxiety, she said to her daughter, "Of course I knew.  What I meant was what are you doing home _so soon_?  I didn't expect you back this early"

            "Well Terry does drive like a maniac," Isabella responded haughtily.

            "Hmm, I'm sure.  Now why don't you go unpack your bag.  And stay in your room until I come up to get you, okay?"

            "Why?"

            "Please just do as I ask?"

            Isabella shrugged.  "Fine.  Can we go to out for Chinese tonight?  I'd really like an egg roll."

            "Sure, sounds fun," Mardi replied, thinking, _If I'm still in one piece, that is._

            "Great!"  Isabella said and turned back to her father and Terry who were still standing just inside the door.  To Terry who was carrying her suitcase she said, "Come on up.  I'll show you my room."  Then she bounded up the stairs

            Terry started forward but stopped as Bruce's cane came up to block his path.  They shared a silent moment and Terry nodded insistently before he was allowed to continue.

            After he'd gone Mardi walked into the library, crossing her arms across her chest for comfort.  He followed her in.  "And just where have you been?"  The question was controlled, quiet, almost casual, but when she turned around to look at him her stomach clenched.  She had never seen him angry.  Sure they had had their share of disagreements, but she was usually the instigator and normally ran out of steam because he would refuse to offer more than a few unemotional words on any subject.  But now he was staring at her so hard she knew he must be keeping a tidal wave of fury held back.

            "I was staying with Jesse," she replied weakly.

            "And she doesn't have a phone?"

            "I just figured you had more important things to worry about."  The sarcasm came out before she was even aware of it.  There was still a lot of resentment buried deep inside.

            He exploded, shouting in a way she'd never heard before.  "What the hell were you thinking?!  I thought you were _dead_!  I was about to tell your daughter you were dead.  How could you be so inconsiderate?  So _selfish?_"

            Mardi knew she could play this one of two ways.  Though yelling back was her first instinct that wasn't why she'd returned.  So instead she marched purposely forward until she was right in front of him and then placed her hands on either side of his face, reaching up to kiss him in a way she hadn't for a long time.  He seemed unsure how to handle her unexpected and intimate response, and stood motionless for several seconds, but then she heard the sound of the cane dropping to the floor.  One arm wrapped around her waist and the other hand cupped the back of her head as he began to kiss her back.

            She pulled away slightly and whispered in a rush of air, "I was wrong, I know that and I'm so very sorry.  But I was scared and confused.  So much had been thrown at me in a short amount of time that I just couldn't process it all."  Her hands slid down and settled on each of his shoulders.  "And part of me still wanted to hurt you," she admitted with a touch of guilt.  "For not trusting me with your secret, for not letting me know who you really were.  I felt like I was just a footnote in your life, not as important as that other stuff."

            He pursed his lips and then gripped her about the waist firmly.  "You are going to listen to me, and listen well because I am only going to say this once.  Batman was simply a tool I used to do what I had to do.  A hard, cold, emotionless tool.  A means to an end.  But if I had told you about it part of me would always have to _be_ Batman, and believe me when I say he could never love you as much as I do."

            "Oh," she said, taking it all in.  "You could have mentioned that sooner."

            "You never gave me the chance," he growled.  "Now I want you to tell me everything that happened."

            "Not much to tell really.  One minute I'm standing in Powers' office, the next I'm knee-deep in the river.  Somehow I managed to swim to shore."

            "He said you never showed up.  There's no record of you ever being there."

            She shrugged.  "You're surprised?"

            He let go of her and started walking to the phone.  "I'm calling Barbara to have her send an officer over here to take your statement."

            "No."

            He stopped.  "What?"

            "No.  I did not come back here for that.  I came back for you."

            "Mardi," he explained patiently, "Powers tried to kill you."

            "I'm painfully aware of that."

            "He needs to be put behind bars."

            She nodded her head briskly.  "Yes.  Yes he does.  He needs to be in a dark hole for the rest of his life and become the girlfriend of a large man named Bubba, but I'm not going to be the one to do it.  It's only my word against his; if he sees I'm not a threat maybe he'll let things be, realize it's a stalemate."

            He looked at her like she'd gone insane.  "You can't be serious."

            "I'm deadly serious Bruce.  Why do you think no one admitted to seeing me there that day?  Because he owns them all.  He probably has half the city in his pocket for crying out loud.  How long do you think I'll stay alive if they arrest him?  Or worse," she said, dropping her voice, "what if he decides to go after Isabella?"

            "You've got to trust me," he insisted.

            She smiled slightly.  "Trust who?  You or Batman?"

            "Both of us."

            "I'm sorry, but I can't, not with the stakes so high.  He wins this round.  I'm afraid and I won't fight him anymore.  If you insist on bringing the police here you won't like the story I give them."  She turned her head in shame.  "I'm sure he'll do something else down the line you can catch him at."

            "Even if he succeeds in killing someone else?"

            "And if he succeeds in killing me?  Is that alright?" she asked, her voice rising with temper.

            "I won't let that happen."

            "You can't stop him!"  She pointed her finger at him accusingly.  "You owe me this, Bruce Wayne!  After everything, you _owe_ me."

            "I don't like backing down."

            "Frankly neither do I, but there's too much at risk."  Watching him she became acutely aware of the rift, the line separating the man from the mask as they warred over justice versus his family's safety.  _This is it_, she thought.  This was why he stayed alone for so long.  The choice was almost too much for him to bear.  She went over to him and put her hands on his shoulders.  Looking into his eyes she tried to locate the man she knew.  He was right, he'd become Batman again and looking him full in the face was by far more terrifying than the brief glimpses she'd seen over the years.  "Please," she quietly pleaded with him.  "Don't let your war into this house.  Do what you need to down there, but leave the insanity outside.  I came back for you.  Don't make me regret it."

            His face was like stone, but he nodded.  She shivered and leaned forward, pressing her cheek against his chest.  A hand came up to gently graze her hair, and then settled on her shoulder pushing her back.  "Your daughter wants to go out to dinner tonight.  You should go make sure she's ready."  His voice was distant, almost unfriendly and it wrapped around her like ice.

            Unsure, she walked slowly to the door where she paused and turned back to him.  "Are we okay?" she asked.

            With empty eyes and toneless voice he replied, "We're even.  That should be enough for now."  Then he turned away from her.

            In the ensuing silence she was certain she heard the sound of something break.

            Terry laid the suitcase on the large canopy bed with a frilly pink spread.  Isabella thanked him with a sweet smile.  He turned around to leave the room when he heard the shouting from below.  The words were indistinguishable but the tone still ominous.  Terry glanced over at Isabella who was picking through her things obliviously.  He supposed in this one instance her deafness might be a blessing.  He was uncomfortably reminded of his own parents' loud arguments that lead up to their divorce.  His brother Matt would sneak into his room and they would huddle together as the angry voices battled each other with vengeance.

            Not wanting to go downstairs while Bruce had it out with his wife, Terry shut the door and began looking around the room.  Roses matching the color of her bedspread dotted the wallpaper.  One entire wall was devoted to shelves of stuffed animals.  Opposite the bed was a desk with row upon row of books ranging from _War and Peace_ to _Through the Looking Glass_.  The walls were full of pictures, awards, and ribbons.  Trophies dotted all available surfaces around the room.  They were for a wide variety of activities both athletic and academic.  Swimming and gymnastics were the dominant sports, but there were also several equestrian blue ribbons surrounding a picture of her on a large thoroughbred horse.  She was in full riding gear and smiled brightly into the camera, holding up a silver cup.

            "Beautiful, isn't he?" she spoke, standing just behind him.  He jumped slightly, unaware that she had finished unpacking.

            "Yeah," he replied.  "Yours?"

            "No," she sighed wistfully.  "Mom would never let me have one of my own.  His name is Haven's Way.  He belongs to the school, but I was the only one he liked.  He's about the only thing I'm going to miss about that place."

            Terry had noticed that a few of the certificates of merit spelled out her entire name, Isabella Martha Wayne.  "Martha, that's your grandmother's name isn't it?" he asked to keep up the conversation.

            Her nose wrinkled in distaste.  "Yes.  I hate it.  It's such an old lady name."  Realizing what she'd said, she looked a little shameful.  "Please don't tell my dad.  He'd be really hurt."

            "I won't.  Scout's honor," he replied, holding up his right hand with the thumb and pinky finger bent down.  She smiled in relief.  "So is your first name after anybody in particular?"

            Her head bobbed.  "Yep.  Queen Isabella of Spain."

             His eyebrows shot up.  "You're named after a fifteenth century Spanish monarch?"

             She laughed at him.  "Mom wanted me named after a powerful, historical female.  It was a toss-up between Isabella and Cleopatra."

            "Wow, she made the right choice," he said.  "Just don't let it give you delusions of grandeur," he teased her.

            "Nope, no delusions," she grinned.  "Hey, my thirteenth birthday is in a couple of months."

            "Really?  I'll have to remember to get you a present."

            She batted her eyes at him.  "I was thinking maybe you could take me out for pizza or something."

            Terry had to bite his lip to keep from laughing.  He'd had plenty of girls hit on him before, but never one whose father could literally make his life hell.  "I don't think your dad would like that very much," he told her.

            "Oh don't worry about him," she insisted, which was even more amusing, because Terry had a sneaking suspicion she got her way more often than not.

            "Actually, I have a girlfriend."

            "Oh."  Her face fell dramatically and Terry felt sympathy for the girl, but before he could say anything he heard a soft bell ring and a small light started blinking over the door.  Seeing the signal, Isabella rushed over and opened it, revealing Mardi looking worn and tired, her eyes tinged with red.

            She looked from Isabella to Terry and back to Isabella.  "So what's going on in here?" she asked, and Terry, at least, could hear the sharp edge of the question.

            "We were just hanging out, Mom," she replied, and then dropped her voice into a hoarse whisper that carried all the way back to Terry.  "Don't you think he's cute?"

            With a raised eyebrow her mother replied, "I _think_ he's a little old for you."

            Isabella took a step back and placed her hands on her hips.  Her voice was loud and clear as she said, "Well Daddy's like twenty years older than you!"

            "We'll discuss this later."  Mardi brought her hand up and motioned for Terry to leave the room, her eyes never moving from Isabella.  "Now change your clothes so we can go out to eat.  We'll meet you downstairs."

            Terry moved past them into the hall and Mardi closed the door.  She turned to him with an eerie smile.  "Looks like someone has a bit of a crush."

            He laughed.  "Yeah I guess so."

            Still smiling, she said, "Make sure you don't do anything to encourage it."

            "Wha..?  She's just a kid," he replied, stunned, feeling an uncomfortable sense of deja vu.

            "That's right," she continued, the humorless smile never leaving her face.  "And I'm sure you can imagine what her father would do to you.  Double it and you'll have an idea of what I'll do."

            "I've got a girlfriend!" he cried.  What was wrong with these people?

            "Perfect," she replied, slapping him on the shoulder.  "Keep it that way and we'll all be a lot happier."  Then she turned and walked down the hall, calling over her shoulder, "You are welcome to join us for dinner," before disappearing down the stairs.

            Terry McGinnis shook his head in utter amazement.  He'd once thought the strangest thing about Bruce Wayne was the fact that he'd created the Batman.  Now he wasn't sure that even came close.


	22. Consequences

Consequences 

            The official explanation for her miraculous return was rooted in a grain of truth:  After a bitter argument with her husband the night before, Mardi had gone directly to the airport first thing in the morning and taken a flight to the Bahamas, without even telling him.  There she had spent two blissfully ignorant weeks lying on the beach and drinking exotic cocktails, giving him some time to stew before coming home.  She hadn't bothered with the news so she couldn't have known her car was stolen from the airport parking lot by some joyriders and dumped in the river when they were through with it.  She was mortified to return home and discover she was believed to be dead.  She apologized for the misunderstanding and hoped she hadn't caused too much trouble with her childish behavior.

            It was a story full of holes, but who was going to make the effort to disprove it?  Considering how few people even knew she existed it was easily dismissed and forgotten.

            The week following was full of tension and anxiety as she wondered what Powers' next move would be, waiting for some sign of his intentions.  It arrived ten days after the press release in the form of a card, heavy ivory stock with the letters 'DP' embossed on the front.  Inside there were two handwritten sentences:

_It is with overwhelming relief that I learned of your safe return home.  
Wishing you a long and healthy life,  
Derek Powers._

Mardi read and reread the note a dozen times, turning the card over and even searching the envelope itself for some other clue, but there was nothing else.  She took the card to Bruce who stared at it darkly before it disappeared into his clenched fist.

            "What does it mean?  Do you think…?" she asked in a timid, small voice that was almost unrecognizable to her.

            "It's as much of a concession as you're going to get from him," he replied, glaring at her bitterly for a second before turning away.  Watching his back she thought he might as well have been wearing the cape and mask, because it certainly wasn't Bruce Wayne who stalked out of the room.

            From then on life settled into a steady, if not idyllic, routine.  He spent his days and early evenings upstairs, pretending everything was normal for Isabella's sake, while his nights belonged solely to the cause.  They spoke rarely and never touched.

            The longest conversation they had involved Isabella's education.  He sat her down and told her that he had decided their daughter would be entering the public school system, specifically Hamilton Hill High School.  He was prepared for her arguments and countered them before she could even speak.  Yes, she was younger than the incoming class, but she was more than ready academically.  The school offered an accelerated program and a recent donation insured it was equipped with state-of-the-art assistive devices (Mardi hadn't even bothered to waste her breath asking where the donation had come from).  As an added bonus, Terry attended classes there and could keep an eye on her.  Then he paused briefly before launching into the final argument, the nail in the coffin so to speak.  It was time she stopped being so over-protective.  She had to stop trying to shelter Isabella from the world.  She had to understand the girl was more than strong enough to handle herself, and this was what she wanted to do.

            In the end it was clear he was not seeking her permission, he was simply telling her how it was going to be.  She conceded defeat despite her better judgment and abject humiliation simply to get out of the room, to get out from under his eyes.

            That night in bed, alone as she had been every night since coming home, she cried into her pillow for the first time, trying to pinpoint the exact moment her marriage had ended.  She'd forced him to surrender and how could he ever forgive her for that?  At one time she would have fought to win him back, but all the fight had been drained out of her, not that it would do any good anyway.  Maybe, just maybe, she'd have a chance with Bruce, but against the cold stranger, the one she'd glimpsed briefly over the years and who had now taken up permanent residence, against him she had no chance.  He was unrelenting, unyielding, unbeatable.  He was a black hole that sucked the life out of her.

            Lying in bed, tears drying on her cheeks, in occurred to her just how much she hated him.  She hated Batman with every fiber of her being.

            It was a rainy early spring day and though the days were steadily growing longer it was still almost dark by the time Mardi walked through the front door.  She was fatigued down into her bones, mentally exhausted, and hadn't felt so good in months.  After spending the past six weeks knocking about the old manor house making an effort to smile for her daughter when all she felt like doing was crying dawn till dusk, all the while pretending every non-look she received from her husband didn't cut her like a razor, she'd made the first executive decision since quitting her job and did what every rich society wife did to keep busy – she got involved in charity work.

            Specifically she went down to the Wayne Foundation headquarters, introduced herself, shook hands with the current director, and asked to be shown to her office.  The man looked dumbfounded for all of fifteen seconds, then closed his mouth, put his hand on her elbow, and showed her to a large, corner suite, surreptitiously removing his nameplate as he walked by the door.

            She'd been at it a week, reviewing files, making suggestions, and just this morning set up a fund to clean up the Gotham river, the stench still fresh in her mind.  She felt strong again being productive, and for ten hours a day never once felt like shedding a tear.  But as she returned home, to the heart of the beast, her purgatory, the depression slowly settled back in.  Several lamps cast a soft glow in the foyer making it look warm and inviting.  She removed her coat and hung it up on the rack, setting her umbrella into its base.  She rubbed her upper arms for warmth, and closed her eyes, taking a moment to recall the past.  He was there, dressed sharply, face still relatively unlined, looking at her with that slight smile, his eyes burning with passion for her.  She could almost feel his arms around her, firm and powerful, and his lips press against her neck, hitting just the right spot.  Without realizing she moaned as the grief settled around her heart.  Her eyes blinked open and it was the present again and it was still over.

            A small voice in her mind questioned why she even remained, living the lie that was slowly driving her mad.  Why not leave, pack her bags and go, whether just to a downtown Gotham hotel or to the other side of the globe.  Why stay where she wasn't wanted.  The simple answer was Isabella, that she stayed for her daughter, not wanting to leave her with a broken home, but the deeper answer was that she now lacked the courage to leave, because if she left it would be completely over and sometimes just pretending was better than nothing.

            Walking forward she glanced up the stairs.  Isabella must be up in her room doing her homework.  She'd go up in a minute to say hello, but first she moved towards the kitchen.  Passing the study she happened to look in and notice that the clock was standing aside, allowing access to the cave below.  The anger hit all the much harder in her depressed state, heat flushing her cheeks as her heart pounded frantically.  It was implicitly understood there was not to be any traffic through this entrance since it would be too easy for Isabella to come across it.  And here he'd simply left it standing open.

            Setting her shoulders and preparing for battle, she stormed down the stairs.  In the passageway she heard voices drift up, low and indistinct.  When she immerged into the cavern she saw Bruce's back as he stood next to a worktable.  It looked like there was another person standing in front of him.  She watched him take a tool from the table, assuming he was performing some maintenance on Terry's suit, and called out, "Hello?"

            Bruce turned around at the sound of her voice and watched her as she walked towards him.  He stepped aside and she got her first look at the other person, seeing that it wasn't Terry at all.  She blinked her eyes trying to get them to focus properly, because that person looked an awful lot like…

            "Isabella?" she asked.  Her daughter stood there wearing a helmet that looked like it came out of a bad sci-fi movie.  The girl lifted her hand in greeting.  "What are you doing down here?  What is she doing down here?" she turned to look at her husband, panic growing in her chest like a wild animal.

            "Mardi please stay calm," he said to her.

            "Stay calm?  _Stay calm?_  What is she doing down here?  She's not supposed to be down here!  And what is that getup you're wearing?" she yelled at Isabella.

            "Mom, you don't have to shout.  I can hear you just fine," she replied.

            "I will shout if I want to…what did you say?" she sputtered, thunderstruck.

            "I said, I can hear you just fine."  

            "I don't understand, how is this possible?"  She looked from one to the other.

            "Technology we discovered in Shriek's lab," Bruce replied calmly.  "It recreates sound waves into electronic pulses and sends them directly into the auditory center of the brain, like an artificial ear."

            "Who-Wha..?"  She was having trouble comprehending his words.

            "Dr. Shrieve?" Isabella filled in.  "He's the guy that tried to kill Dad last month.  Remember?"

            Mardi remembered very clearly his brief stay in the hospital.  She'd told Isabella he'd simply fallen.  Terry had provided her with the actual details, though she really didn't care to hear the truth.  "Yes, I remember, but how do you know about it?" she inquired suspiciously.

            "Don't worry Mom.  I found out about Terry being Batman my first week of school.  There was an emergency and I was sort of following him so I saw him with the suit."  With a smile she placed her hands on her hips and struck a pose.  "I'm going to be a crime fighter like Dad and Terry."

            Her whole body went cold as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped over her head.  "Over my dead body!" she screamed, sending scores of bats fluttering about in distress.

            Isabella blinked and stepped back in response to the verbal onslaught.  Bruce placed a hand on her shoulder.  "Give your mother and me a moment alone please?" he said quietly to her.  She nodded and moved around the table off into the depths of the cave.

            Mardi rounded on him, her previous chill turned into a burning fire.  "Don't you dare!  Don't you fucking _dare_ you arrogant bastard!  I swear to _God_ that if you do this, if you turn her into one of your clones, I swear I'll…I'll…"  

            "You'll do what?" he quietly goaded her to finish.

            "Kill you," she snarled, ears ringing with the sounds of her own words, but she knew she meant it.  She stood trembling waiting for his rebuke, his anger, even his condemnation, but she would not back down, not let him bully her this time.

            So she was surprised to see his face soften, almost sympathetically, as he said, "There is nothing more important in the world to me, do you really think I would place her in danger?"

            It was her husband's voice, the one she hadn't heard in so long, as much as the words themselves that stunned her.  "Well I don't know Bruce," she replied warily, "after all, you are insane."

            He didn't seem to take offence at the slight any more than he had her bold threat.  "I'm sorry she found out, but there is no undoing it now.  I'm letting her down here to test the equipment while I'm trying to refine it into something she can wear full time.  That's all."

            "But she said…"

            "She's twelve.  Last week she told me she wanted to be a veterinarian.  The week before that she wanted to be a Rockette."

            Mardi brought her hand up and rubbed her face tiredly.  "I'm sorry.  I guess I should have known better…"  The words trailed off as she looked over his shoulder.  "No danger, huh?  What would you call _that_?" she asked pointing behind him.

            He turned and looked.  "She must have gotten into the supply closet," he replied as if it was perfectly normal to see his twelve-year-old daughter twenty feet in the air, suspended by one of his jump lines.

            "That's all you can say?  She could break her neck!"

            "Isabella!" he called out.  "Get down from there before your mother has an aneurysm."  Dangling in the air, she inverted herself so that she was hanging upside down facing them, grinning, her hair spilling out from under the helmet like a dark waterfall.

            "So this is where everybody's at."  Mardi and Bruce turned to see Terry come down the stone steps and walk towards them.  Noticing Isabella's aerial routine he said, "Training the newest little vigilante are we?"

            "No!" they replied in unison. 

            Terry shrugged.  "Good, because I work alone."

            At that moment Isabella released her grip on the line, completed two mid-air somersaults, and stuck a perfect landing.  "I'm dead," Mardi moaned.  "That's the only answer.  I've died and this is my own private hell."  Feeling as if she were trapped in her worst nightmare she headed up the stairs.  "If my daughter is still in one piece in an hour, please send her upstairs to help with supper."


	23. Always Darkest Before The Dawn

Always Darkest Before the Dawn 

            She sat at her vanity table and was supposed to be brushing out her hair before going to bed, but the brush was motionless in her hand and it hadn't moved in five full minutes.  She stared at it, her mind buzzing as she remembered the scene downstairs, trying to ignore the despair eating away at her heart.  Suddenly she looked up into the mirror and saw him standing behind her as still as a statue.  The brush clattered loudly as she placed in back down on the tabletop.

            "How are you doing?" he asked quietly.

            "That's a trick question, right?"  Their eyes remained focused on the cold, reflective glass and not on each other.  His hand came up and rested on her shoulder, gripping it briefly and then pushing so she would swivel in the chair to face him.

            "You don't look well," he stated.

            "I haven't been sleeping.  I'm surprised you even noticed."

            He took a hold of one of her hands as they lay limply in her lap and pulled her up so she was standing before him.  She looked into his face and almost lost her balance, so surprised to see a tenderness she hadn't beheld in ages.  His hand slipped behind her head and he gently pulled her forward so he could whisper into her ear, "I love you.  I always have and nothing will ever change that."

            The tears in her eyes blurred everything when she leaned back to look up at him again.  "Does this mean you forgive me?" she asked, lips trembling.

            "You have nothing to be forgiven for.  I'm responsible for what happened.  I should never have let you go back to Powers' office."

            She shook her head and tried to hold back her tears, but they insisted on coming.  "You couldn't have known what was going to happen."

            "I knew what he was capable of.  I just gave him more credit than to do something so bold and vindictive."

              She completely broke down, burying her face in his chest, clutching his shirt with her hands.  She could taste the blood as she bit her lip to keep the cries from escaping.  He smoothed her hair with his hand.   "I've missed you so much," she gasped.  "I thought you were gone forever.  I'm so sorry for everything," she wailed.  "I am so sorry!"

            "I'm here.  I'm not going anywhere," he soothed.  "You are not…completely at fault," he admitted.  "I needed to realign my priorities.  I'm sorry it took this long, sorry you had to suffer like this."

            She stepped back and blinked up at him.  "What happened?"

            His fingers gently touched her cheek.  With a wry smile he replied, "There's something about a woman threatening to kill me I just can't resist.  Now you need to get some sleep.  Do you think you'd mind some company?"

            "Don't you have to be downstairs?"

            "I gave Terry the night off."

            She felt like laughing and crying at the same time.  "No, I wouldn't mind company at all."  With the back of her hand she wiped the tears away from her eyes.  "I am so sick of crying.  I'm getting too old for this crap."

            "You?  Imagine how I feel."

            This time she actually did laugh.  "Yeah, you're _definitely_ too old for this crap."  Then without warning she broke into powerful sobs, covering her face with her hands.  "Oh God!" she choked.

            "Mardi?" he asked, concerned.

            She shook her head in wide sweeps and then pulled her hands away.  "Are we okay now?" she asked thickly, almost unable to believe it could be over that easy.

            "Yes, we're okay now," he assured softly, reaching for her.  He placed a kiss at her temple.

            "Good," she sniffed.  "That's good."

            "Mom?" the small voice asked from across the room.

            Mardi looked up from the Saturday morning paper to her daughter.  She sat in the enormous dining room that was rarely used, at the head of the table, a cup of coffee and a half eaten bagel in front of her.  Isabella walked over and bent down to kiss her on the cheek.  Sadly Mardi realized her little girl was tall enough to tower over her, at least while she was seated.  "Good morning, sweetheart," she told her with a smile.

            Isabella flopped down in the chair next to her.  "You look good this morning," she said, fiddling with the ponytail she'd swept over her shoulder.  "You look happy."

            It was an odd comment, but Mardi simply replied, "Thanks."  Isabella fidgeted in the chair for a moment and then pulled her foot up onto the seat, wrapping her arms around her long, slender leg.  She was wearing shorts and still sported a little of last summer's tan.  "Both feet on the floor please," Mardi chastised automatically.  "And sit up straight, or you'll turn into a hunchback."

            Obeying, Isabella stuck a thumb in her mouth and started worrying at its nail.  Once she'd bitten a piece of it off she said, "I'm really glad you and Dad aren't fighting anymore."

            Mardi's heart thumped uncomfortably.  "What makes you think we were fighting?" she asked.

            A sudden calm came over the young girl and Mardi was aghast to see the frightening resemblance she had to Bruce.  Mardi had always thought she was such a mixture of the both of them, intense and winsome at the same time, but she may have more accurately been described as a vision of what could have been if Thomas and Martha Wayne hadn't been murdered in front of their son.  The look she gave her mother spoke volumes and Mardi felt her face flush with shame.  To drive home the point she said, "I'm deaf, not stupid."

            Wondering what happened to her baby, how she had managed to grow up so fast, Mardi replied, "I know.  I'm sorry it made you uncomfortable."

            Isabella shrugged, and reverted back to her normal demeanor.  "No big.  I knew it couldn't last for long anyway.  You two are nuts about each other."

            Mardi reflected on the phraseology, wondering if 'nuts' indeed described them to the letter, as she watched Isabella lean forward and grab the pewter salt and pepper shakers closest to her, moving them around uneasily, tapping them against each other and the reflective surface of the mahogany table, obviously uneasy about something.  She snapped her fingers in front of the girl's face to grab her attention.  "What is it?"

            She bit her lip thoughtfully and then blurted out in a breath, "You don't like that he was Batman, do you?"

            Mardi sighed.  This was not a conversation she wanted to have with her daughter.  She longed for a much simpler topic, like the birds and the bees.  "No, I don't," she replied honestly, chagrined as she recalled falling fast asleep in the comfort of his arms.

            "Why?"  Mardi was stunned speechless by the question.  She remembered feeling so angry because he hadn't been completely truthful with her, but other than that she'd never actually considered her reasons for protesting his chosen vocation, besides its inherent dangers.  Emboldened by her mother's hesitation, Isabella jumped to his defense.  "He helped lots of people, saved many lives.  He's a _hero_, Mom," the girl said with admiration.

            Heroes don't lie to their wives, she wanted to say.  Instead she replied sadly, "He's just not the same person I thought he was."

            "How?  How is he different?" Isabella asked with the most solemn expression she'd ever worn in her young life. The interrogation was discomfiting, and Mardi would have preferred to tell her to go to her room and mind her own business, but she knew this curiosity was better off not being ignored.

              She turned away to peer out the large bank of windows to the beautiful sunshine-filled day, repeating the question to herself in her head: How?  "I don't know," she said with a sigh.  Isabella tapped her on the hand, reminding her she was still looking away.  Turning her head back, she replied more firmly, "I don't know."

            Isabella sank back into the chair, folding her arms over her chest, and smiled, indicating she had rest her case.

            "You need to stop growing up young lady, you're starting to scare me."

            Isabella sprang out of her seat and wrapped her arms tightly around Mardi's neck.  "Love you, Momma," she whispered, then let go and headed back towards the kitchen.  "Hi Dad!" Mardi heard her call out and turned to see them passing in the doorway, Bruce carrying a cup of coffee in his hand.

            "Good morning, princess," he said softly and leaned down to kiss her on the head before she disappeared.  He came over and sat down in the chair she'd just vacated.

            "Hey," Mardi greeted him quietly.

            "Did you sleep well?" he asked without preamble, sounding truly concerned and not just making polite conversation.  Then again, when did he ever just make polite conversation?

            "You know, I actually did," she replied happily.  "Better than I have in a long time.  I guess the company really helped."  She winked at him.

            He took a sip of coffee, his eyes never leaving her face, then said, "You were talking in your sleep."  It was an ominous statement and there was no humor in his face.

            "Oh?" she replied, feeling a bit mischievous.  "I didn't mention my affair with the pool boy, did I?"  Her eyes opened wide with shock to give him the full effect.

            Unfortunately, being born to enormous wealth, and growing into a perfect physical and mental specimen, did not guarantee a sense of humor.   The corners of his mouth turned down in disapproval and Mardi began giggling at his inability, or unwillingness, to get the joke.  That only served to darken his expression, which caused her to howl with laughter until she was fighting for breath.

            "Are you just about finished?" he asked irritably.

            "God that was priceless!" she said.  "You should have seen your face."  He gave her a stony look and she leaned forward, confiding to him, "We don't _have_ a pool, dear."

            "You didn't say whose pool it was," he pointed out to her.

            She gaped at him for a moment, and then smiled. "I'd never dip in anyone else's pool, silly."  He gave no indication that he was going to let the conversation slide off the course he'd mapped out.  "Fine, what was I saying?"

            " 'Please don't take them.'  You cried it out several times."

            "Really?" she said.  "Gee, I wonder what that means."  Her eyes were on the paper she held in her hands, a sign she wasn't all that interested in divining the true meaning in her dreams.  Vaguely she remembered a large bat, the size of a prehistoric pterodactyl, swooping down after her family, but she'd shaken off the feeling of doom it had left her with in the morning and did not feel like revisiting it.   Turning back to Bruce, she changed the subject.  "Isabella is quite pleased we've made amends."  He was silent.  "And of course I didn't get a chance to thank you last night for keeping another secret from me."

            "I didn't want you to overreact."

            "Nooooo.  No chance of that happening."  She looked him directly in the eye.  "No.  More.  Secrets.  Especially when they concern my daughter.  Am I understood?"

            "Of course."

            She relaxed back into her chair.  "You know, I didn't think it was possible, but she idolizes you even more now."  She closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead with her fingertips.  "And you're wrong.  I don't think it's just a phase.  She's going to want to be just like you."

            "One thing we're in agreement on is that won't happen.  I've said no, and that's final."

            Mardi smiled thinly.  "And you've had so much luck saying no to her in the past."  If she were the overprotective parent, he was the permissive parent.  It was a fact that no one could contradict.

            "This is different.  The rules are different."

            She nodded slowly.  "I believe you.  But what happens after you're gone and can't say no anymore?"  His face changed slightly.  "When she wants to follow in your footsteps and there isn't anyone who can stop her, because you and I both know that when she gets something in her head she's more tenacious than anything you can imagine."

            "What are you trying to say?"

            "I don't want her getting hurt because she doesn't know what she's doing."

            "I thought you were against getting her involved."

            "I am.  I'd as soon slit my own throat then see her mixed up in your world."  She sighed.  "But I'm also a realist.  Teach her, give her the tools and the knowledge.  _Don't_ make it glamorous or fun.  _Discourage her._   Maybe she'll get it out of her system, maybe she won't, but I will not have ignorance be her undoing."

            "Do you know what you're asking of me?"

            "You're her father, she's going to inherit a lot more than your bank account.  You opened this can of worms, and I'm leaving it to you to clean it up.  _That_ is what I'm asking of you."

            Their eyes met and held for many seconds, then he blinked.  "Very well."


	24. Milestones

Milestones 

            "Do you think it looks stupid?" Isabella asked nervously for probably the hundredth time.

            "Will you just relax?  It looks fine.  You'll probably start a new fashion trend.  It certainly doesn't look any worse than some of the ridiculous things kids are wearing today," Mardi replied before taking a sip of her iced tea.

            Isabella reached up self-consciously to adjust the two-inch wide 'HALO' – Hearing Amplification Optimizer – that encircled her head just above her ears like a crown.  It was made of titanium and consisted of intermittent prongs that transmitted the electrical impulses into her brain.  It itched like crazy and she caught a few by-standers staring blatantly at her.  The last thing a teenager needed was negative attention.

            The HALO had been her thirteenth birthday gift from her father, and in theory it was a grand idea.  In reality she wanted to rip it off and throw it in the closest trashcan.  Almost of its own will her hand moved up again.  Quick as lightening her mother's arm shot across the table and snatched her wrist in midair.  After three and a half weeks of training with her dad she'd come to realize how amazingly strong and agile he still was considering he was halfway through his eighth decade, but none could compare to a mother's reflexes, which were borderline prescient.

            "Leave it be or take it off," she admonished quietly with a raised eyebrow.  "You don't have to wear it you know."  Mardi released her grip and Isabella dropped her hand back to the table with grimace.  Sullenly she pushed a fry around her plate, tracing abstract patterns in the catsup.  "So how's school?" her mother questioned between bites of her chef salad.

            Isabella shrugged.  They were sitting at an outdoor table of a trendy bistro in the bohemian section of town and afterwards they were going to do some serious shopping.  This was her mother's birthday present, which was actually sort of cool.  Most girls she knew hated their parents, especially their mothers, but she thought she was kind of lucky.  Hers had done all their living before they'd had her and didn't feel the need to encroach upon her childhood.

            Today she turned thirteen.  Mardi had taken the day off from her work at the Foundation and she'd allowed Isabella to have an excused absence from school, a girls' day out.  They'd visited a salon in the morning and had their hair and nails done, which was the coolest thing Isabella had ever experienced.  She'd had them use purple polish on her fingers, which her mother had frowned at but stayed delightfully silent.

            "School's okay," she eventually answered.  "At lunch I get to sit with Terry and his girlfriend Dana and their friends.  Max is so totally schway; she has pink hair.  And I'm in advanced computer programming with her."

            "Really?" Mardi drawled.  "Anything go on that doesn't involve Terry or his friends?"

            "Don't you like Terry?" Isabella asked exasperated.

            "He's a very nice young man, but I would prefer you developed friends a little closer to your own age."

            "But…"

            "Don't go there again Isabella Martha," Mardi warned.  "There is a world of difference between twelve, well thirteen, and seventeen than there is between, well never mind, but you know what I'm saying.  You have a lot of growing up to do, and you are too young to have any boyfriend, much less one that is almost a man.  He already has a girlfriend anyway, so you need to stop being so fixated on him.  I don't want to hear anymore about it.  Understood?"   She was using her 'Mom' voice.  Isabella knew the look, but she'd forgotten the voice, or maybe she'd just never used it when she could still hear.  All the same it was disconcerting.

            "Yes ma'am," she mumbled and stuffed a wad of fries in her mouth.

            "Good lord, you'd think you were raised in a barn.  A proper young lady does not shove food in her mouth like that.  You are familiar with the fork aren't you?"

            Isabella chewed the potato mush in her mouth slowly then swallowed it down with a gulp.  She took a sip of her soda and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand causing her mom to roll her eyes.  "What's the matter Mom?  You're usually not this uptight."

            Mardi's eyes shifted away from her face in guilt.  She took a breath then looked back at her.  "I just want to make sure that you don't forget how to be a person," she replied in a voice barely above a whisper.

            She wasn't sure she heard it correctly.  "What?"

            Closing her eyes tightly, Mardi said, "Just because he's teaching you to…to…fight and whatever else doesn't mean you have carte blanche to act inappropriately.  You're still half mine and that half will be civilized."

            Isabella couldn't help it.  She started laughing and Mardi opened her eyes with a frown.  "Don't worry Mom.  I'll always be your little girl," she assured her.

            "Good."  She smiled with relief.  "Now finish up, we have a lot of shopping to do." 

            An hour later they were walking down one of the side streets, several bags between them, both looking satisfied and not the least bit exhausted.

            "I know of this cute little retro shop just up ahead.  You'll probably find some really neat things in there," Mardi said to her.  Isabella just smiled.  Things had really picked up after lunch and she was amazed how much fun her mom was.  She was also paying attention to all the sounds around her, thoroughly engrossed in each little microcosm of life.  A dog barking from an open window, a car zooming by, a loud argument between a couple on the opposite corner.  Each was its own little world, but all fit together.

            There was very little traffic, automobile or pedestrian, compared to the non-stop commotion of midtown.  That was why it was so unusual to feel someone bump into her from behind.  "Hey!" she cried out in surprise as she felt a hand grip her upper arm.

            Mardi looked over in response to her exclamation.  "Oh no," she said with dread.

            "Good to see you too Mrs. Wayne.  Now turn down the next alley or the kid has a nasty fall in front of a bus."

            "Mom?" Isabella asked.

            "Not now honey," she replied tightly.  They were coming up on a break in the buildings and Mardi swung left as instructed.

            The guy put a hand on her back and pushed Isabella hard enough that she stumbled forward.  "Watch it you creep!" she shouted.

            Mardi grabbed her before she could fall and moved in front of her, facing the man.  He advanced on them slowly and they shuffled backwards to keep a distance between them.

            "What are you doing?" Mardi asked, her voice cracking.  

            "Got a little unfinished business to take care of."

            Mardi shook her head.  "N-no.  It's over.  He said it's over.  He sent that card."

            He shrugged indifferently.  "Maybe it's over for him.  Me?  I was given a job and I intend to finish it.  'Sides you know my face.  You could easily rat me out to the cops.  Can't take that chance, can I?"

            "I can't rat you out without ratting out Powers too.  You're safe!"

            "Can't take that risk."

            "Don't you get it!  The first place they're going to look if something happens to me is Derek Powers.  He won't like that you've compromised him like this!"

            The man smiled and Isabella felt goose bumps up and down her spine.  She was looking into the face of a killer.  He reached his right hand into his pocket a pulled out a large switchblade knife.  "By the time I'm done with you, it'll just look like random street violence.  Another sad Gotham statistic."  His eyes shifted over her shoulder and settled on Isabella.  "Make that two sad statistics."

            "No!  You don't have to do this!  Please!"

            "Mom!" Isabella whispered insistently into her ear.

            "Not now Bella!"

            "But Mom, look."  She tapped Mardi's shoulder.  When she turned her head Isabella made several quick signs, *I can take him.* 

            Mardi's eyes opened in horror.  "No!" she hissed vehemently.

            "What's that dummy saying?" the man growled and grasped Mardi by her throat with his free hand.  He looked angry and his face was blotched red.  Mardi sputtered and gasped for breath.  "The little freak say something about me?"  He looked at Isabella.  "Don't matter.  You just wait your turn," he snarled.

            Taking several quick breaths to focus her energy, Isabella stepped confidently forward.  She grabbed the wrist holding the knife and bent it back over his shoulder.  He cried out in shock and pain.  "Let go of my mother," she commanded in a deep, strong inflection of voice that sprang up from within her unbidden.  Several long-term residents of Arkham Asylum from the turn of the century would have recognized its cadence if not its speaker.

            His expression darkened and he obeyed the command, shoving Mardi backwards into a cluster of garbage cans, knocking them all down like a set of tenpins.  "Okay, you want to go first, kid, no problem.  But now you've made me mad."  With his free hand he struck her upside the head, boxing her ear and knocking the HALO onto the ground.  She was immersed suddenly in blessed silence, which was more than fine with her.  The background noise just served as a distraction anyway.   The fire in her ear spread down the side of her neck in response to the blow and hurt like crazy, but she pushed it away.  Her dad always said to make time for the pain later.

            "You'll have to do better than that," she admonished him calmly and wrenched the arm even harder.  One more ounce of pressure and it would separate at the elbow.  She sent her free hand, clenched tightly, flying towards his face in a quick but effective jab.  Blood flowed from his nose as if a spigot had been turned on.

            "Ow!" he yelled out in agony.  "You little bitch!"  Spittle flew from his lips and his eyes widened, making him look not unlike a rabid dog.  "I'll show you better."  He reached around and grabbed a handful of her long hair, using it has leverage.  He yanked as hard as he could and she felt herself lifted off her feet and flew into the side of the nearest building.  It was old and brick and did not give at all as she landed against it and slid down to a sit on the cold concrete ground.  Her vision blurred slightly and she felt a little sick to her stomach.

            The man stared coldly at her as he massaged his abused arm.  "This was just business, but now I'm going to get a great deal of satisfaction teaching you a lesson in respect."  Beyond him she saw her mother gotten to her feet and was now sifting through a dumpster full of construction debris left over from a recent building remodel.  She pulled out a piece of rebar about three feet long and hefted it experimentally before turning back towards the man and Isabella.

            "Get away from my daughter."  He turned and Isabella could no longer see his face, but he must have said something pretty nasty, because her mother's face went completely white.  "I said, leave her alone!"  She rushed forward and swung the bar against his shoulder once, twice.  On the third swing he caught it easily and pulled sharply on it.  Mardi's grip was so tight she fell forward, into his arms.  He tossed the bar aside, flipped her around, and gripped her roughly beneath the chin so her head was resting on his shoulder and her neck exposed.

            He turned back to Isabella and looked down on her evilly.  "Just watch what I'm going to do to your mom.  It's going to be quick and relatively painless.  You won't be so lucky."

            Mardi struggled against him as he raised the knife in front of her face, tears falling in a steady stream.  Isabella licked her lips and gauged the distance between them.  Less than a foot.  Quickly she lurched her lower body forward and kicked out her right leg, hitting him squarely in the back of the knee.  It wasn't hard enough to cause him any pain, but enough to make the joint buckle under their combined weight.  He went down hard and Mardi rolled off and away.

            Isabella sprang up and stood before him.  He raised his head, but made no move to stand.  "What the hell are you, kid?"

            She smiled angelically.  "Not just another pretty face."  She threw her entire body into a fierce roundhouse kick, connecting solidly with the side of his face, which in turn smashed satisfyingly against the side of the building.  He sprawled on the ground, made one half-hearted attempt at pushing himself up, and then fell lifelessly back down.  "That was for calling me a dummy."

            She turned as hands clutched at her shoulder.  Mardi stood there, her clothes streaked with mud and trash, cheeks wet and shiny.  "Are you okay?" she asked, touching Isabella's head and face and arms.  "Did he hurt you?"

            She grabbed her mom's hands in her own.  "I'm fine."  Then she leaned forward and allowed Mardi to envelope her in a powerful hug.  "I wasn't going to let him hurt you Mom.  I promise, I'll never let anyone hurt you again."  She felt a kiss planted on the top of her head.  She pushed away from her mother gently and looked down at the man who would have killed them.  "Let's get out of here before Prince Charming wakes up."

            She bent down and picked the HALO up, turning it over in her hands.  Didn't look like it had suffered any damage.  She placed it back on her head and heard her mother asking a question.  "…call the police?"

            "Won't that open up all sorts of questions about Mr. Powers?"

            "I don't know.  Probably."  Her mom looked miserable and worried.  When Isabella had discovered that Powers had tried to kill her mother she became both frightened and angry, angered mostly by the realization that the man had cowed her mom, who normally would go head-to-head with a bulldozer to suit her own needs, but now the mere mention of his name would send her into a state of desperate depression.  And though she didn't know the particulars, Isabella was certain he was behind the terrible and uncharacteristic fight between her folks.  If nothing else, that was reason alone to hate the man's guts.

            She wanted to spare her from any more trauma at his hands, so Isabella said, "Hopefully this twip will get the idea not to bother you again.  Let's just leave him with his headache and humiliation."

            Mardi nodded as she grabbed her shopping bags and cast a fearful glance at the prone figure.  "I've had enough shopping for today.  I want to go home and have a long, hot bath."

            "Sounds good."  Isabella picked up her own bags in one hand and took hold of her mother's hand with the other.  They walked out of the alley together and back up the street, a great deal more alert to the world around them.  After a block spent in silence, Isabella finally spoke up.  "I've been thinking about a costume.  Something purple maybe, but no cape…Hey!  Ow!  Mom you're squeezing my hand too tight!  Mom?"


	25. Second Thoughts

Second Thoughts 

            "…and then I kicked him as hard as I could and – Pow! – he smacked into the wall.  One, two, three he was out!  You should have been there Dad, it was so schway."  The young girl danced around the Batcave on the balls of her feet throwing air punches, her face lit up like a Christmas tree.

            Bruce sat in the command chair with his customary air of indifference as he watched her skitter to and fro.  Standing back with her arms crossed over her chest, Mardi observed them with equal parts pride and apprehension written over her face.

            "What did you do with him?" Bruce asked in a low voice.

            Isabella stopped moving and dropped her hands.  "We left him there."

            "Unsecured?"

            She must have registered something in the tone because she turned her head slightly and said, "Um, yeah.  Not that we had anything to tie him up with."

            "You can always improvise," he instructed her.  "But more importantly you're telling me you left a perp, the man who in fact has tried to kill your mother twice now, to go free after you had managed to subdue him?"

            "Bruce…" Mardi started quietly from across the expanse of the cave.

            He did something he knew his was going to pay for later, he held up his hand to silence her, his eyes never leaving Isabella's face.  "Answer me," he commanded in the Bat voice, the one that held no sympathy, allowed no margin for error.

            "Y-yes s-sir," she said, eyes wide and almost surely about to leak tears of shame and frustration. 

            "Why?"  Out of the corner of his eye he saw his wife take a step forward and open her mouth to speak.  "Not one word Mardi.  If you don't want to watch than I suggest you go upstairs.  This is between Isabella and me."  Oh yes, he was going to pay dearly.

            "W-we didn't want to get Mr. Powers mad at Mom.  If we had the guy arrested, she would have to explain why he attacked her, uh us."  Her voice rose as she continued.  "Jeez Dad, you of all people should understand!  She's scared of him!" she shouted, but the tears had already started and she wiped at them with an angry hand.

            "Your mother has made her peace with Derek Powers.  Only this man would be able to make the connection and it would not be in his best interest to do so.  You should have immediately turned him over to the police.  We don't let the criminals go just because it suits us.  Am I clear on this?" he finished with a low, moderated voice that did nothing to hide his disapproval, in fact it seemed to amplify it.  It was a trick he's used on his many apprentices.

            Isabella was now crying in full force, head bowed with hitching breaths.  There was a time he would go to her and cradle her in his arms, telling her he'd take care of everything.  Not now, not likely ever again.  She nodded in answer to his question.

            "Good.  You have work to do don't you?"  She nodded again and then was gone, pounding up the stairs like there was a demon on her tail.  He sighed and leaned his head forward.  Sometimes it was such hard work being a cold bastard.

            There was a hollow clapping sound and he looked up to see Mardi smacking the palms of her hands together with a faint frown on her face.  "Bravo.  If that's how you act when she saves our lives, I'd hate to see how you act if she really screws up," she told him.

            "If she really screws up then somebody will be dead, most likely her."

            Mardi's frowned deepened.  "You don't have to be so harsh, you could have still told her she did a good job."

            "I thought you didn't want her doing this at all."  Women.  If only there had been a way to silence his libido, things in his life would have been exceedingly simpler.

            "You know I don't."

            "Then let me do my job."

            But she refused to give up.  "So bullying her is your idea of training?"

            "Whatever works," he growled, and turned the chair away from her.

            "She's going to hate you, isn't she?"

            He didn't bother answering her.  She was either up to the task or wasn't.  If she couldn't handle training there was no point in sending her out to her death.  Just because she was his daughter, his pride and joy, didn't mean he was going to be any less demanding than he was with Terry or Dick or the others.  In the end they all hated him whether or not they wanted to admit it.  Whatever kept them alive, that was all that concerned him.  

            She came around to the side and stared at him for a minute.  "I'm sorry.  I didn't understand."  He continued working, and eventually she gave up and left him in peace.

            Mardi opened the door and saw Isabella face down on her bed, sobbing into her pillow.  "Bella?" she called out with no response.  She noticed the HALO tossed onto the dresser.

            She walked over and sat down on the bed beside the wailing child and placed a hand on her shoulder, shaking softly.  "Bella honey, look at me," she pleaded, but the girl only shook her head and sobbed harder.  With a frown Mardi gently pushed her over onto her back but she lay there with her eyes shut tight.  She was closing out the world.  Stubbornness ran in the family.

            Mardi reached up and gently pinched the girl's nose shut with her fingers until her eyes popped open and she brushed her mother's hand away with annoyance.  "Leave me alone Mom," she cried out in anguish, but at least she kept her eyes open and focused.

            "Is that what you really want?"

            Isabella wiped at her tears and shook her head slowly.  "H-he was so mean.  Why?  He's never talked to me like that before," she said, her voice hitching with sobs.

            "No," Mardi agreed.  "Your father has never spoken to you like that and I'm sure he never wanted to, but you've got to understand he's not exactly your father down there."  The girl blinked in confusion and Mardi tried to explain something she only barely understood herself.  "It's like he changes."  She bit her lip.  "I think he has to lock away a part of himself, replace it with whatever makes him Batman."  She reached over and smoothed Isabella's forehead.  "And you've got to realize what a terrible task this is for him.  Imagine how he'd feel if something happened to you because he didn't teach you everything you needed to know?"

            Swallowing she replied, "I guess he'd be pretty sad."

            "Right.  That's a lot of responsibility."

            "What if I'm not good enough, what if I wasn't meant to do this?" she asked desperately.

            Smiling, Mardi said, "Then it wasn't meant to be, no harm done.  You don't have to try and be something you're not."

            "But if I don't, then how can I be worthy of being his daughter?"

            "Worthy?  Baby, you're more than worthy to be his daughter ten times over.  A hundred times.  This…this crusade of his is nothing, _you_ are what's important."

            "You don't want me to do this.  You don't want me to be like him."

            "Of course I don't, Bella.  I wouldn't be much of a mother if I did.  Then again I don't want you to grow up and get married, but that's not going to stop some guy from sweeping you off your feet one day.  All that matters is what you want.  I've always told you that."

            "And if I was meant to do it and I am good enough?  Today I felt something when I was fighting that guy.  I don't know, it sort of felt…right," Isabella rubbed her eyes sadly.  "He can't be Dad and Batman at the same time, can he?"

            "I'm sorry honey."

            "I've got a lot of thinking to do."  She laid her head down on Mardi's shoulder.

            Mardi stroked her hair and whispered words only she could hear, "It's okay.  No matter what, you'll always be my little girl."  What had she done?  A lifetime of bad decisions culminating in one preposterous idea developed from a single bad dream and now she'd caused perhaps irreparable damage to the relationship between Isabella and her father.  It had never occurred to her that the girl might actually be _good_ at it.


	26. The Diary of Isabella M. Wayne

A/N:  This is just a little 'concept' chapter that resulted from a reader's request.  It's not really integral to the story itself, but it's an interesting POV.  A new real chapter will be coming soon.  

The Diary of Isabella M. Wayne 

Dear Diary,

            In honor of my first full day home I'm making my first diary entry. I've had this journal since my birthday last year.  It's very nice with a cloth cover and little embroidered flowers, plus it has a little lock on it to keep out the snoops, but I left it here at the house because, frankly, nothing ever happened at the Bellweather School for Freaks and Geeks worth recording.  And it already seems like a bad dream, though I have to say I miss Tiffany and Haven.

            This morning I asked if I could burn my uniforms in a big, celebratory bonfire in the back yard, thinking it would be both symbolic and cathartic.  Dad just shook his head and said no.  Mom arched an eyebrow and said, "I think not.  You should donate them to those in need."  And she's supposedly the one with a sense of humor.  But who is she kidding?  What inner city kid is going to want to wear a blazer with some prep school logo on it?  It'd make much better kindling.

            I gotta tell you though, seems are a little strange around the house.  Something's wrong with my folks.  They barely looked at each other last night at dinner and whenever they did speak they just look strained and unhappy.  I don't know, maybe it's just my imagination.

Dear Diary,

            Well he did it!  Dad got Mom to agree to let me go to high school, and not just any high school either.  It's the same one Terry goes to.  Yeah me!  Today was my first day.  You should see this place, it's huge.  There's like twice as many students in my class alone as there was in the entire Bellweather Prison for Uninteresting Losers.  I've got some pretty schway classes and I've already met a couple of Terry's friends who seem nice, though it does have its share of jerkwads.  This afternoon there was a pep rally for homecoming.  The cheerleaders came out and performed for everyone.  Whoop-di-do.  Dana (that's Terry's girlfriend :p) was among them in her skimpy little short skirt and tight sweater.  Of course I can see why he likes her - she actually has breasts.  Who do I have to kill to get a pair of those?

            Things don't seem to be getting any better between my parents.  I'm sure Mom's been crying though she tries to hide it.  They're hardly ever in the same room together anymore, except for supper and I'll tell you Diary, at this point I'm grateful I can't hear, because it makes it so easy to play dumb.  I even tried to tell a knock-knock joke at dinner tonight, and while I'm sure the material wasn't much, they didn't even crack a pity smile.  This is NOT looking good.

Dear Diary,

            Major happenings today Diary!  You absolutely will not believe what I found out.  But I'm getting ahead of myself.  Just sit back and listen to this story.

            Okay, third period Philosophy was just about to enter the record books as The Most Boring Class in the history of mankind when the fire alarm goes off.  So we all dutifully grab up our things and march out in a calm and orderly fashion as you're supposed to do during fire drills, but get this – it wasn't a drill!  Some moron in the chem lab on the third floor put some sulfur and magnesium in a beaker and put the whole thing over a flame.  Well you can just imagine what happened next.  Whoosh!  Huge fireball.   So we're all out front watching flames pouring out the window waiting for the fire department to come when word starts spreading through the crowd that this nerdy guy (I think his name is Willie) is STILL up there!  I saw some dork make a bad joke about how he's gonna wind up well-done.  Idiots.  So we're all just waiting, not being able to do anything because we're just kids right?  But then I happen to be watching Terry and see him kind of casually move away from the crowd and walk around the side of the building.  'Weird,' I think to myself and since I've got nothing better to do I follow him.

            Now I know what you're thinking, it's an unhealthy and futile obsession with a guy who barely knows I exist (or even if he knows I exist will never get past the fact that I'm Bruce Wayne's daughter.  Sheesh, why is THAT the defining element of my life, I ask you??  Sure I've got a trust fund bigger than the federal budget, but I am still human.  If you prick me do I not bleed?), but I don't think it's unhealthy at all, and if there's anything I know, it's that with enough perseverance NOTHING is futile.  Someday, I promise you, he will be mine!

            But, back to subject.  I'm following Terry, and he almost catches me as he looks around before going into the door of a classroom, but I was able to hide behind a bit of shrubbery.  So I wait for a few minutes wondering if he maybe left something in there he wanted to grab before the whole school goes up in flames, and then – you will NOT believe this – Batman comes out!  Black costume, pointy ears and all.  So I wait hunched down behind this bush and he shoots off using those schway rocket boots of his up to the roof, no doubt to rescue the dweeb in the chem lab.  After he's gone I stand up and sneak over to the classroom door and open it very slowly, peeking inside just in case, but there was nothing, nada, zilch inside and no way other than the one door to get out.  I did see Terry's backpack and his clothes stuffed messily inside like he had no time to fold them neatly.

            Okay, Diary, just in case you missed the implications here, I'm gonna spell it out to you:  Terry McGinnis is Batman!  Whoa.   So at this moment I'm thinking, 'I wonder what Dad's going to think about this?'  And then it only gets creepier.

            The fire department finally shows up and takes care of the inferno on the third floor.  Of course, Batman saved the little nerd boy, FYI.  The principal says everyone can go home early – duh!- and the kids take off.  I grab my cell and call the service Mom's hired to drive me to and from school. (She doesn't trust me to take public transportation.  I sometimes wonder if she even trusts me to breathe on my own.  I'm surprised she hasn't hired someone to follow me around and make sure I remember to inhale.  Picture me rolling my eyes here Diary.)  So after waiting for, like, ever for the car to show up, we head home, but this guy is driving slower than death and he ignores my every attempt to go faster.  I swear my mother must have given him strict orders to ignore me!

            Finally we get home (amazingly it is still the same day!) I run inside and somehow Terry's gotten there ahead of me (well not so surprising – more eye-rolling) and he's talking to Dad in the front parlor so I run in like it's no big deal and say hi to them.  Then I casually ask Dad to step out so I can talk to him.  Out in the foyer I tell him what I saw.  He just stares at me for a second and then goes back into the parlor.  I was a little confused over his reaction, but let's face facts, Dad's not like other people.  I follow him in and get there in time to see him say, "…saw you change."

            Man did Terry's eyes get big.  He looks at me, then looks back at Dad, and then says, "I checked to make sure no one was following, I swear."

            "Apparently not good enough," my dad tells him.  Then he turned away and I couldn't catch what else he said, but Terry just makes this face and heads toward the study.  Dad takes my arm and moves me over to sit down in one of the armchairs and he sits down on the hassock in front of me.  After a few seconds he says, "You have to promise not to tell your mother about this.  She doesn't need anything else upsetting her right now."

            Well I have to say this was one of those moments where I had a chance to prove I'm not just an immature kid, and yet I failed miserably.  I knew something was up with my parents and this was the perfect opportunity to find out what it was all about.  But did I think about that at the time?  "I promise I won't say a word," I tell him without a second thought.  Diary, I'm telling you he actually looked relieved.  It didn't occur to me at the time, but I think he was worried I WAS going to ask what was up between them.

            Then he starts talking, and what he tells me absolutely blows my mind.  HE was Batman years and years ago!  And now he helps Terry continue the job, the brains behind the brawn so to speak, which really makes total sense – he may have the cutest buns in the entire city of Gotham, but Einstein Terry's not.

Dear Diary,

            Remember when I told you about Dad being in the hospital?  Mom told me it was because he'd had trouble with his heart and they were running tests so no visitors allowed.  She really thinks I fall for this crap.  Of course she doesn't know that I really know what happened – that psycho inventor with the sound-suit tried to drive him crazy.  Well Batman eventually took the creep out, but before the cops confiscated all his inventions, Dad asked Terry to bring home one of his prototypes, a huge helmet-like thing.  Dad's been tinkering with it a bit and today he had me to put it on.

            You wouldn't think there'd be much to hear in a cave thirty feet below ground, but let me tell you there is.  The flutter of bat wings, the drip of water from the stalactites, even the disgusting licking noise Ace was making, all of it came at me at once and I just stood there in awe listening to the very whisper of the air current or the rustle of my feet against the rough floor, every minute sound sent a shiver down my spine.  Then I heard the most incredible sound of all.  My dad spoke to me from behind.  I had no clue what the words were – after years of reading the shape of words, I'd almost completely forgotten the sound of them! – but I knew my dad's voice as if it had just been yesterday.  I turned around to look at him and he repeated the question and this time I put the sounds with what he was saying – "How does it fit?" – and it made sense.  I nodded, unable to do anything except just stare at him.  For a minute it was like I was five years old again and I wanted to crawl into his lap and have him read me a story, but then he asked me another question – "Is it working?" – and reality crowded in. 

            "I think so.  It's just going to take some getting used to," I told him.  And that was an understatement.  He seems to think he can use the technology and getting down to a more manageable size for me.  I have to say I really lucked out when it comes to my dad.  I wouldn't trade him for anyone else in the whole world.


	27. Just One of Those Days

Just One Of Those Days 

            Mardi rushed into the kitchen, briefcase in one hand and a deep scowl on face.  Isabella sat at the small table munching on a piece of toast.  "Are you about ready?" her mother called out without even looking.  She'd already gotten used to the fact the girl could hear her now, at least while wearing her HALO.  She went over to the counter and poured a mug of coffee, the second of the morning in fact, though she'd never gotten so much as a sip of the first.

            "Mom, can I ask you a question?"

            "Only if you can ask it while we're on the move.  I'm going to be late!"

            "Relax Mom, you are the boss you know."

            Mardi turned around and leveled a gaze at her child, light of her life, reason for her existence.  "For your information, that only means I have to be even more responsible, not less."  She brought the coffee mug to her lips and took a hurried gulp, feeling the scalding liquid scorch her tongue and palate.  "Oh damn!" she cried spitting the mouthful of sepia liquid out into the sink.  

            "Are you okay Mom?" Isabella asked with concern.

            "No!  I've had a splitting headache since I woke up.  I had to go through three pairs of stockings – you would _think_ in this day and age someone could invent run-free nylons," she muttered absently.  "And then to top everything off I had to change my outfit because I spilled a cup of coffee all over it."  She looked at her watch.  "And now I'm _really_ going to be late."  She tossed the remainder of the coffee down the drain.  No amount of caffeine was worth this effort.  "Let's go!"

            "But I need to ask you something," Isabella replied beseechingly.  Sighing, Mardi rolled her hand in the air rapidly to encourage brevity.  "Okay, you know that big board meeting Dad's going to this afternoon?"  Mardi nodded and continued gesturing with her hand.  "Well I'd really like to go with him."

            "No.  Now that that's settled, let's…"

            "C'mon Mom, please at least think about it," Isabella practically whined.

            "Why?" Mardi sighed.

            "It's a huge deal, rumors have been flying over the web, and no one knows what Mr. Powers is up to.  And I'd really like to see Dad in action.  Well you know the other type of action he does."

            "I'm sure he won't want you tagging along."

            "He won't mind," she wheedled.

            "Well, I mind," Mardi said firmly.

            "You're just saying no because you're scared of Mr. Powers."

            "Can you think of a better reason?" Mardi asked quietly.

            "It's not like he'd do anything to me."

            "I'd rather not take that chance.  And a boardroom is no place for a child."

            Isabella huffed in exasperation.  "Well do you at least have any idea what it's about?"

            Mardi nodded firmly.  "Yes.  It's going to be about business.  Lots of business, and none of it yours.  Now move it!"  She tried ushering her offspring out the door.

            "Mom!" the girl called out shrilly.  "Someday it's going to be mine."

            "Yes, but for now you're thirteen.  Worry about calculus, not corporate takeovers.  Anyway," she paused and stared skeptically into the girl's eyes, "don't you have detention tonight?"

            "Noooo!  It was only last week," she mumbled.

            "Well good.  Now try to stay out of trouble for a whole month this time, maybe try for two, hmmm?"

            "It wasn't my fault!"

            "It never is," Mardi commiserated insincerely, placing a hand on Isabella's shoulder blade and maneuvering her through the door.

            "They dared me!"

            "And now I'm daring you to be quiet and move your butt to the car."   As they past through the grand foyer, Bruce was just coming down the stairs, watching the early morning processional.

            "I liked it better at the Academy," Isabella shouted peevishly, as she reached for the door.

             "We can always arrange to send you back."  As Mardi passed Bruce, she called over her shoulder, "You insisted we had to keep her."

            The halls of Hamilton Hill High School were almost impossible to traverse as hundreds of teenagers roamed, talked, cavorted, and lounged between classes.  Couples spoke in whispers with heads tilted together intimately, buddies jostled and joked with each other with boisterous glee while flirting with the occasional girl, and upper classmen asserted their dominance over the younger students.  Within the walls of the sprawling campus was an ecosystem of post-pubescent animals proving every one of Darwin's theories.

            Isabella Wayne and her friend Marie Wilson inched upstream through the mass of human bodies towards their lockers.  Every now and then Isabella would call out, "Coming through!  Give us some space" or "Move it deadbeat, you think you own the hall?"  She completely ignored the looks she received in return. 

            "Can you believe Mr. McKenzie gave us a pop quiz first thing on a Monday?" Marie asked dolefully as they reached Isabella's locker.  They shared homeroom as well as several classes, including Ancient Civilizations, and had developed an easy camaraderie.  Marie was fourteen, a petite blonde-haired girl with perpetual worry on her round face and dread in her light gray eyes from having been the butt of multiple jokes in her short life.  She felt extremely fortunate that the new girl in school had actually taken a liking to her, not because she was rich, or because she had proven she wasn't going to be subjugated like the rest of the freshmen, but because she was always exciting and doing daring things, which she only got caught at occasionally.

            "Believe it?  I thought I was going to die!  That was just so wrong!" Isabella groused and slammed the locker door shut to punctuate her disdain.

            "But you always ace tests," Marie said. 

            "Sure if I had actually bothered to read the chapter it would have been no problem."

            "Why didn't you read the chapter?  You had all weekend."

            "I was doing stuff," Isabella replied vaguely.

            "What kind of stuff?"

            "Stuff…with my dad."  She couldn't exactly tell her friend she spent the majority of the weekend in her family's subterranean cave inventorying batarangs, grapples, gas pellets, and the other various tricks of the bat-trade or that she'd been helping her dad fix the power coupling on the Batmobile.  Her mom would have a fit if she found out she'd blown off homework to do Bat stuff.  Heck, her dad would too.

            "Your dad?  Isn't he, like, old?" Marie asked timidly.

            "Well yeah, in the grand scheme of things he could be considered a little vintage, but trust me, he's got a lot of good years left."

            Marie nodded.  "Schway.  At least you do stuff with him.  My dad would rather watch whatever sports webcast is on."  She leaned over to look around Isabella.  "Hey, cute boy at twelve o'clock, and he's headed your way."

            Isabella whirled around and saw Terry moving towards her.  She felt her face flush and her palms started sweating as he smiled easily at her.  "Hi Terry," she said with a grin as he stopped next to her.

            "Hi, Bella.  I need to ask you something."

            "Sure, go ahead."

            "What are you doing this afternoon?"

            "Huh?"

            "After school – do you have any plans?"

            Isabella was almost giddy with anticipation.  Could he actually be asking her to do something with him, like a date?  She repeated a calming mantra in her head and regulated her breathing before answering, "Nothing at all.  I'm totally free."

            "Great!  Do you think you could sit with my little brother Matt?"

            Her mouth fell open.  "What?!"

            "My brother Matt.  He's only eight and I totally forgot that my mom won't be home till later today and had asked me to come straight home and look after him, but your dad's got that big meeting at Wayne-Powers to attend."

            "I know," she said with anger, but Terry was oblivious.

            "So I need to go over and pick him up as soon as I can after school lets out."

            _Great,_ she thought miserably, _he gets to go and I don't._  "You're asking me to baby-sit?"

            "Yeah.  Max would normally do it, but she's got plans with Jared and I don't want to ask her to break them."

            "You're asking me to _baby_-_sit_?"

            "I think we've already established that."

            "Why don't you ask Dana?" she asked trying to hold back her disappointment and resentment.

            Terry shrugged.  "She's got cheerleading practice.  Listen, it's only a couple of hours and I'll even pay you."

            Her eyebrows shot up.  "You're offering to _pay_ me?  Have you forgotten my last name?" she asked arrogantly.

            "I was being polite.  Besides, you're not going to live off your dad's money your whole life are you?"

            "Go to hell!" she said and turned away from him.

            Terry grabbed her arm and pulled her back to face him.  "Hey I was only joking.  I just didn't think it would be such a big deal.  What's the problem?"

            "Nothing," she said quietly.

            "Then will you please do this for me?  I'll owe you one."

            "Fine."

            "Great.  I'll meet you out front after school."  With a nod to Marie he reentered the throng and disappeared.

            "_Great_," Isabella mocked as she turned back to her friend.  "_Dana's_ got cheerleading practice and Max has a date so stupid ole me who doesn't have anything resembling a life can baby-sit the twip kid brother."  She crossed her arms and glared at no one in particular.

            "Hey it's okay," Marie tried to console her friend, but before she could go any further a body stumbled out of the mass of slow-moving pedestrians and hit Isabella in the back, knocking her forward to slam against the lockers.

            "Do…you…mind!" she yelled in anger, turning around to face the offender.  It wasn't even lunch yet and she'd already had enough of this crappy day.

            A boy stood before her, tall and slender, with dirty blonde hair and soft brown eyes hidden behind wire-framed glasses.  His cheeks flushed painfully red and he said shyly, "I'm really sorry.  Someone tripped me and I couldn't catch myself.  I hope I didn't hurt you too much."  His voice was soft and musical.

            Isabella reached up and rubbed her nose.  "I'll live, I guess."  Her irritation dissipated somewhat. 

            He smiled in relief.  "That's good.  My name's Josh.  Diamante.  I think we have art class together."

            She took a moment to study him closer.  "You're the one who sits in the back and never says a word?"  He nodded.  "I'm…"

            "Oh I know exactly who you are," he interrupted. 

            She pursed her lips together in annoyance.  "So much for keeping a low profile," she muttered.

            "Huh?" he asked in confusion.  "I just meant I know your name.  It's Isabella right?"  She nodded.  "That's a really pretty name," he said and flushed even deeper.  Isabella thought that if he kept up his head would erupt like Mt St Helens.  "Um, I was just wondering, you know that project we have to do, to, you know, sketch another person?  Would you consider being my model?" he managed to ask bashfully.

            "Me?" she asked and glanced over to Marie, who was suddenly very interested in the tattered poster for last week's dance.  "The project was to sketch someone of  'great importance to you'," she reminded him, assuming he'd missed the crucial piece of the assignment.  Isabella had already made prelim work on one of her dad.

            "I-I know," he said looking down and shuffling his feet.

            A light bulb flicked on in her brain, and things suddenly became clear.  "Ohhh.  Well…I don't know…if that…would be…um…"

            "Hey, I understand," he said quickly.  "I'll think of someone else.  Sorry to bother you."

            "No, no," she tried to assure him.  "You just caught me by surprise, that's all.  Actually I'm flattered you asked me.  I've seen some of your work.  You're very talented."

            "You think so?" he asked with a timid, but proud smile.  "I just know anything I draw of you will be great, because you're so pretty."  His eyes widened as he realized he spoke out loud.  "I'm so sorry…"

            "Don't be," she laughed.  She'd never been on the receiving end of a crush before.  And he was kind of cute in a large overgrown puppy dog sort of way.  "Never apologize for a compliment.  Look, I've already got plans this afternoon, but maybe tomorrow or the next day we can get together?"

            "Schway," he said breathlessly with a look of joy.  "Later."  He stepped back, waved goodbye, and then took off down the hall that was now closer to being deserted.

            Suddenly a shrill alarm sounded overhead.  "Oh, no," Isabella moaned.  "I'm going to be late for gym.  If I get another tardy that's going to mean more detention. Gotta go!  See you Marie."  Then she sprinted for the gymnasium.

            Marie hollered her goodbyes after the retreating figure and headed to her own class.

            After school Isabella met Terry and together they boarded the metro.  Two blocks away from his apartment building they disembarked and walked away from the station, stopping at the corner of his block.  Ten minutes later a brightly colored hover-bus stopped and several noisy, rambunctious children got off.  One dark-haired boy ran over to the pair.

            "I can't believe you actually showed up," the boy said to Terry.  "Who's this, your new girlfriend?"  Isabella snorted to herself.

            "No, twip, this is Isabella.  She's Mr. Wayne's daughter and she's going to watch you till Mom gets home.  Now come on.  I've got to get to work."

            "I don't need a baby-sitter."

            "No, you need prison guard.  Just try to be good."

            He herded them quickly into the building and to the McGinnis apartment.  Matt ran over and flopped onto the coach as Terry gave Isabella a quick tour.  He showed her the kitchen and told her to help herself.  Then he bid them both goodbye and left.

            Taking his words to heart, Isabella poked through the kitchen cupboards until she found a bag of potato chips.  She dumped them into a bowl and then joined the younger McGinnis in the living room.

            Matt was flipping through the web channels.  She plunked down beside him and offered the bowl of chips.  He shook his head.  Eyeing her suspiciously, he asked, "What's that thing on your head?"

            Isabella frowned and reached a hand up, patting at the top of her head with her fingertips.  "There's nothing up there," she declared finally.

            Matt rolled his eyes.  "_Around_ your head doofus."

            "Oh that," she replied.  "That's my crown.  I'm a princess."

            "Are not," he said dubiously.

            "Am so.  My dad's the king of Gotham.  I was even named after a queen.  You may bow before me," she said royally and lifted her nose in the air.

            "Get out.  You're just a dumb girl."

            "Don't call me dumb, pipsqueak."  She looked at her wristwatch.  "Hey, my dad's gonna be on the web soon.  Give me the remote," she commanded.

            "No way.  It's my house, I control the remote.  Who wants to watch your dumb old dad anyway?"

            "I do and I'm in charge here.  Hand it over!"

            "Bite me."

            "You kiss your mother with that mouth, dreg?"  She lunged for him and he leapt out of reach.

            "Stop it!  I'll tell my mom!"

            "Tell her whatever you want nitwit, but if you don't give me that remote this instant I'm gonna smash you into a little greasy spot.  There won't be enough of you left to identify."  She leered and grabbed at him, but the eight-year-old was quicker and sidestepped out of her grasp.

            "You'll have to catch me first!"

            She chased him down the hall and into a bedroom where he vaulted over the bed and then skirted around behind her and back through the door.  She growled in frustration.  "I'm not kidding you little snot-faced creep, give me that remote RIGHT NOW!" she screamed as she tracked him back into the living room.

            He waited on the other side of the couch, dangling the object of contention in the air.  "Come and get it," he taunted.

            As she circled the couch he went in the opposite direction keeping pace with her.  When she turned to go around the other way so did he.  "I'm warning you," she told him as they eyed each other across the piece of furniture.

            "Na na na," he replied giggling.

            Refusing to let some little brat get the better of her, Isabella narrowed her eyes and feinted left.  He responded automatically by turning right to retreat and she dove over the back of the couch to tackle him, the two bodies rolling with momentum across the living room floor.   When they came to a halt Isabella was on top, easily subduing the smaller child.  She pinched him roughly on his side, causing him to squeal like a stuck pig, and then grabbed his arm and wrenched the remote out of his grasp.  She jumped up triumphantly.  "I am the champ!  You are nothing compared to my greatness!"  

            Matt was scowling and his cheeks flushed red as he slowly rose to his feet.  "Stupid girl," he muttered, rubbing his side.  "I'm going to my room."

            "If you promise not to come out I'll lie and tell your mom you were a perfect little angel."  Without reply he stalked off down the hall and she heard the satisfying slam of his bedroom door.  "Good riddance," she sighed and collapsed onto the couch with her feet dangling over the armrest.  She grabbed up the bowl of chips and shoved a handful into her mouth with one hand as the other dialed in the channel for the World Financial News Network.  

            The anchorperson was just finishing up with the latest stock quotes and then introduced the field reporter live from the boardroom of Wayne-Powers.  "Thank you.  The emergency stockholder's meeting at Wayne-Powers has elicited many rumors, but the general consensus is that CEO Derek Powers may be handing over the reigns to his son, Paxton, who arrived early this morning from South America, amid a sea of protesters claiming he was responsible for the pollution of hundreds of lakes and streams.  Mr. Power's has just called the meeting to order.  We are now taking you live."  The reporter moved out of the way and the webcam made a broad sweep of the large conference room as Derek Powers began to speak.  In the background one of the double doors opened and Isabella watched her father walk through and take his seat among the other chief stockholders. 

            "Hi Daddy," she said softly, waving to the screen.  The webcam focused on Derek Powers as he announced his temporary hiatus for health reasons.   "Maybe he's going to have a heart finally put in," she grumbled, and then munched on some more chips.  Suddenly the webcam swung around to the doors where a group of men were making a loud disturbance.  One of the men had a basket in his hands and was speaking rapidly in heavy accented English about poisoned rivers and ruined livelihoods.  Then he lurched forward and sent the contents of the basket, which turned out to be dozens of dead fish, sliding across the large table.

            Isabella sat up straight and watched the action unfold before her.  Panic-stricken men and women leapt from their chairs to avoid the disgusting fish.  Security guards attempted to control the intruders.  A camera pan caught Powers at the other end of the room.  Isabella gasped at what she saw.  Lines appeared to crack around his eyes and smaller fissures were growing down his cheeks as if he were molting.  From beneath an eerie, sickening green glow pushed through.

            Without removing her eyes from the scene she groped for the side table and pulled the vidphone into her lap.  After couple of aborted attempts she finally managed to get the call to go through. 

            "Hello?" the tired voice came from the unit.  Isabella glanced down and saw her mother looking haggard, hair stringing down into her face and dark circles under her eyes.

            "Mom!" she exclaimed.  "Derek Powers is Blight!"

            "Isabella, what are you talking about?  I don't have time for your jokes."

            "No joke, I swear I'm watching it on the web as we speak.  He's going nuts in the middle of the board meeting.  His skin's peeling right off.  Holy radioactive skeletons!"  Just then a furious Derek Powers pushed his way forward and gripped the man who had been holding the basket by his shirt, snarling at him.  The flesh of his human face had almost completely been shed and a glowing green skull sat in its place.  Isabella saw her father intervene on behalf of the stranger, and then… "Oh shit!"

            "Watch your language," Mardi said sharply.

            "But Mom, Powers just attacked Dad with some sort of fireball, but luckily, Ter…er I mean Batman," she corrected looking over her shoulder incase a snoopy boy had snuck out of his room, "showed up and saved him."

            Mardi looked into the vidphone's camera with barely concealed distress.  "Where are you?"

            "I'm at Terry's.  I'm watching his little brother."

            "Good.  Stay there until someone comes for you."

            Isabella started to protest, but when she looked down there was nothing but the blue stand-by screen.  "Crap," she muttered and switched the phone off.  On the web the station had switched back to the studio anchor who was attempting to describe the amazing events and while replaying the footage over and over.  "I never get to do anything exciting."

            Traffic came to a standstill three blocks away from the Wayne-Powers headquarters.  Lights of emergency vehicles of every kind could be seen bouncing off the neighboring buildings.  Mardi exited her car, leaving it unmindfully in the middle of the street, and made the remainder of the journey on foot.  Police had set up a perimeter around the entire block to keep the curious onlookers back at a safe distance.  However the overwhelming numbers of people drawn by the live broadcast and years of living as nothing but a shadow gave her the advantage.  Keeping her head down, she skirted the bulk of the growing crowd and crossed the boundary, walking swiftly and staying as much out of sight as possible.

            She managed to make it to the revolving front door and came face-to-face with a burly security guard, the letters W-P embroidered on his industrial blue shirt.  Thick arms crossed over his chest gave the impression that he was an unmovable mountain.  His face appeared to be cut out of solid granite and would give even the most courageous person a pause before confronting him.

            Mardi smiled as she approached the large man.  "How are you doing Joe?" she inquired politely.

            "I'm doing just fine, but you can't go inside, Ms. Purcell.  But I guess it's Mrs. Wayne now, right?"

            She nodded.  "If you know that, then you know my husband is up there."

            "Yes ma'am.  I'm sorry, but I have strict orders.  No one goes inside."

            "He could be severely wounded, possibly dying, and you won't let me go to him?  Please, I came all the way down here.  I need to see him."

            Joe's eyes darted over her head, looking back and forth, lips grinding together.  To no one in particular he said, "You were always very nice to me, Mrs. Wayne, not like most of the other big shots.  If I happen to be looking over here," he pivoted to his left, "I wouldn't be able to see someone slip behind me."  The words hadn't left his mouth and she had already pushed her way into the building's lobby.

            The main elevators were predictably shut down.  She cut across the deserted lobby and went through an inconspicuous door in a dark corner marked 'Maintenance'.  Down a short hall was a service elevator that operated on a separate generator.  She pressed the up arrow and in less than twenty seconds the doors opened to allow her access.  Once inside she pressed the button for the 50th floor.  She closed her eyes while riding the small box higher and higher into the air. A minute later she stepped out into a small room.  A door at the other end led out to the hallway.  She attempted to get her bearings as she stopped to look around, smelling the acrid residue of smoke, feeling as if she'd just walked into a war zone.  There was a gapping and crumbling hole twenty feet away in the wall separating the boardroom from the hall.  She ducked her way inside.  A bank of monitors on the opposite wall had been shattered, glass sprinkled across the floor like used confetti.  Overturned chairs, blackened walls, and broken tables completed the apocalyptic effect.

            Several people were receiving medical treatment from EMTs for a spectrum of cuts, bruises, and burns.  She recognized a few and nodded silent greetings.  In the far corner a young female paramedic attempted to treat an elderly man's forehead where a small wound oozed blood.  He easily dodged her hand and gave sharp orders for her to leave him alone.

            The medic was becoming increasingly frustrated with her charge.  "Please sir, will you please just let me take care of that?  It will only take a second."

            "Go away," he growled in response.

            "Why don't you let me give it a try," Mardi said, coming up behind the woman.

            She turned around unhappily, looking Mardi up and down, taking in her business attire.  "I have it under control," she replied coolly.

            "That's not what it looks like.  I certainly can't do any worse, can I?" Mardi pointed out reasonably, holding out a hand.

            "Fine," the medic said, slapping her supplies onto Mardi's palm.  "There are plenty of other people who can use my help."  She glanced back at her patient with one last look of disdain and moved off to help a woman with a raw scrape down her left arm.

            Mardi positioned herself in front of the sour-faced man and they locked eyes for a moment.  "I'm fine," he said eventually.

            "You're bleeding.  That is not a symptom of fine.  Now stop being a baby and let me clean that up," Mardi told him.  The medic shifted slightly where she was applying a bandage to the woman's arm, a vague smile visible on her lips.

            Bruce shrugged and allowed her to dab his forehead with a piece of gauze.  "What are you doing here?" he asked calmly.

            "You know, I was just in the neighborhood and got nostalgic for the old place.  Redecorating are we?"  He looked up at her, no hint of amusement in his cool blue eyes.   "Isabella called me.  She saw the whole thing on the web."  Her lower lip quivered minutely.  "You could have been killed."

            He reached up to grab her wrist.  "But I wasn't."  He stood up.  "Let's go home."

            Since entrance and egress were still prohibited to and from the Wayne-Powers complex, and since Bruce's car was in the Wayne-Powers garage, they started walking back towards where Mardi had left her own vehicle.  "Did you know she was babysitting?" Mardi asked as they strolled along.

            "Terry mentioned something about it."

            "I hope you have a lawyer ready to handle the lawsuit," she remarked.

            "I'm sure it won't be that bad."

            "I bet you fifty creds she made him cry."  She stopped when they had reached a boutique that specialized in hats and went by the name of  'El Chapeau'.  "Oh dear," she said absently.

            "What's the matter?  Have you forgotten where you parked?"

            She shook her head.  "I know exactly where I parked; right across from the hat store with the stupid name."  She looked out onto the thoroughfare that was now uncommonly empty, the motorists having long since been redirected to other routes through the city.  "But I wasn't exactly parked legally," she admitted.  "I must have been towed.  Or stolen."   She held up a finger to him.  "And don't you say a word!  This has just been one of those days, and I cannot wait to get home and end it already!"

            "What's there to say?" he asked.  "Let's go up a few blocks and get a cab."  He put a hand against her back.  "Maybe you need a vacation."

            Mardi bit her tongue to keep from replying.

            A shirtless Terry sat on the examining table of the Batcave as Bruce bandaged a nasty looking radiation burn on his right side.  "Mom's going to freak if she sees that."

            "Make sure she doesn't see it," Bruce responded.

            Both men looked up as Mardi came down the steps.  She walked over to the table and handed Terry a mug of hot tea.  "Here, this should make you feel a little better."

            "Thanks Mrs. Wayne," he said politely, though the last thing he wanted right now was anything hot.

            "So," she said uncomfortably.  "Powers – Blight – is gone for good?"

            "I don't see how he could have gotten away," Terry replied.

            "Anything is possible," Bruce said quietly.  "Unless you see the body, assume the worst."

            The other two people regarded him for a moment.  "Then he may be back," Mardi said uneasily.

            "I doubt you have anything to worry about," Bruce told her.

            She smiled lightly.  "I'm not worried he's going to come after me.  I'm sure I'm at the bottom of his list now."  She frowned then and turned to Terry.  "But you, and his son, I'm sure he's going to want revenge eventually."

            Terry hopped of the table and grabbed his shirt.  Slowly and painfully he pulled it over his head.  "I'm not worried.  I can take him again if I have to.  And as far as Paxton goes, he made his bed, he can be buried in it as far as I'm concerned."  He shrugged on his jacket and grabbed his backpack, then headed towards the cave exit.

            "Terry," Mardi called after him.  "How's your brother?"

            Terry turned and frowned.  "I don't know what she did to him, but he's got a welt the size of a baseball on his stomach and he's had nightmares for the past couple of nights."  She shook his head sadly.  "Mom says Isabella can't watch him anymore.  Sorry."

            Mardi just smiled at him.  "I think that's for the best."  Then she looked a Bruce.  "You owe me fifty creds."


	28. ...And Into The Present

…And Into the Present 

A/N: This was the result of a reader request to incorporate a specific episode (the chapter title will give you an idea which one).  There are spoilers.  Assume everything in the episode happened as shown.  Hope you enjoy! 

_I am so high, I can hear heaven.  
I am so high, I can hear heaven.  
Oh but heaven, no heaven don't hear me.  
  
_

            The small intercom on the desk pinged melodically.  "Mrs. Wayne, your daughter's here to see you," she soft disembodied voice of her secretary spoke.

            Mardi frowned and looked up from the application for aide she was working on to her wristwatch.  It was well after three in the afternoon, so it didn't look like Isabella had been sent home from school early.  She supposed she could count herself lucky that the free-spirited girl hadn't burnt the entire campus down yet.  But why was she here now?  She generally went straight home after school.

            "Send her in please," she responded.

            Thirty seconds later her door opened and the dark-haired ball of energy bounded in wearing a smile that threatened to split her entire head in two.  "Hey Mom!" she called out happily with a small wave.

            "Good afternoon Bella.  What do you want?"

            Isabella made a face.  "Do I have to have a reason to visit?" she asked resentfully.

            "No, but it's safe to assume you do have one."

            Her daughter blushed at having been so easily read.  "Okay, well it's like this."  She grinned wildly before continuing.  "My class is taking a two-week trip to France!"

            "France?  What's in France?" Mardi asked distractedly, her attention partially diverted by the file on her desk.

            "Mo-om," she replied with a teenaged groan.  Mardi flicked her eyes up to the girl.  "The Eiffel Tower, The Louvre, Versailles …any of these things ring a bell?"

            "I see.  So when is this fabulous trip abroad set to take place?"

            "Next month, on Saturday the twelfth."

            "Bella, your father's birthday is four days later," she reminded her.

            Isabella wrung her hands in front of her nervously.  "I know, but c'mon Mom, he's had so many I'm sure he won't care if I miss this one."  Mardi had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. 

            "Isabella," she tried to sound maternal.  "We can go to Europe any time.  How about this summer?  We'll all go together as a family."  If they could pry Bruce out of the cave, that is.

            "But I want to go with my class.  _Please_ Mom," the girl begged.  "A couple of girls have already asked me to room with them.  It's going to be so fun.  Please."  She gave Mardi the abandoned puppy dog look she'd perfected.

            "Very well.  Go and have a great time," she finally relented.  "Now off with you.  I have work to do."  But Isabella continued to stand there, nervously chewing on her lower lip, plucking on the hem of her sweater.  "What is it now?" Mardi asked testily.

            "Um, well, it's like this.  They kind of need parents to volunteer to come along as chaperones."  

            "You're kidding me?"  Isabella shook her head silently, already smiling in anticipation of her victory.  Well Bruce did say she needed a vacation.  Maybe getting out of Gotham for a while was just what she needed to get out of the rut, and try to get back to her old self again.  "Fine.  Fine, whatever.  Now I really have a lot to do if I'm going to be leaving.  Goodbye." 

            She ran around the desk and placed a wet kiss on her mother's cheek before flying out the door.

_  
Someone told me love would all save us.  
But how can that be, look what love gave us.  
A world full of killing, and blood-spilling -  
That world never came.  
  
_

            The trip itself was without any major incident other than one boy getting lost in a vineyard.  The days passed in a haze of tour bus rides, rich food, and shopping.  Chaperoning two-dozen adolescents was not as difficult as say brain surgery, but it certainly was far more interesting.

            But on Saturday evening at the end of the first week, Mardi became overwhelmingly concerned.  She had called Wayne Manor five times in the last three days and there had been no answer to any of them.  She hadn't spoken to Bruce since the afternoon of his birthday when he told her that Terry had somehow managed to obtain tickets to the hottest new stage show in town: "Batman: The Musical."  He was understandably leery of the event, but was planning to attend for the boy's sake, and he wasn't the least bit appreciative of her laughter or her suggestion that he go 'in costume.'  She'd hung up after wishing him a happy birthday and promising her present would be far more pleasant.

            That had been at the beginning of the week.  Where could he have gone?  Her first fear was that he'd had another heart attack and was in the hospital, or worse.

            He slammed the phone down after listening to the distant ringing for over two minutes.  With trembling hands she picked the receiver up and dialed a different number.  It was almost ten in the evening local time so it should be afternoon in Gotham.  She prayed there would be somebody home.

            "Hello," a pleasant female voice answered.

            "Mrs. McGinnis?"

            "Yes.  Who's calling?"

            "This is Mardi Wayne, Bruce Wayne's wife?"

            "Oh, hello," Mary McGinnis said a little warily.  "What can I do for you?"

            "I was hoping to speak with Terry.  Is he home by chance?"

            "No," the other woman responded in a surprised tone.  "Don't you know?"

            Mardi's heart leapt up into the back of her throat.  "Know what?  I'm sorry, but I'm in Europe with my daughter and I haven't heard from Bruce in days.  Did something happen?  Is Bruce okay?" she choked out.

            "Oh no!" Mary exclaimed.  "Nothing like that.  Mr. Wayne had some pressing business in New Cuba and he asked Terry to join him.  I really don't like him missing school like this, but I guess as long as he makes up his schoolwork it's fine.  After all it's not every day he has the opportunity to shadow an important man like Mr. Wayne."

            Mardi let out a sigh of relief.  "That's great.  Do you know what kind of business it was by chance?"

            "I'm sorry, but no."

            "Well thank you anyway.  You've been a huge help."

            "Anytime."  

            The line was disconnected.  Where there should be relief there were only more questions.  Why would he take off without so much as getting a message to her?  And what could he be doing in New Cuba?  She knew for a fact that there were no Wayne-Powers holdings on the island.  Batman business perhaps?

            She grabbed the phone again and dialed another international number.  After being transferred four times she was finally patched through to the Wayne-Powers private airstrip.  "Hello?" a gruff male voice answered.

            "Hi," she said brightly.  "My name is Mardi Wayne, and I know this is going to sound incredibly silly, but I'm trying to track down my husband.  Maybe you've heard of him, his name is Bruce Wayne?"

            "Lady, you'd have to live on a rock at the bottom of the ocean not to have heard of him," the voice growled.

            "Of course," she simpered.  "How silly of me.  _Any_hoo, I wrote down the information on this trip he's taking on a piece of paper but for the life of me I can't seem to find it.  I swear I'd lose my head if it wasn't screwed on."  She giggled.   "So can you do a dotty old lady a favor and look up and see if he's taken a company jet?"

            "Don't have to look nothin' up.  He flew out of here three days ago with some boy and a woman."

            "A woman?  Do you remember what did she looked like?"  Could he have gone with Barbara?

            "Couldn't forget the likes of her.  Man, was she ever a looker.  Exotic looking babe, with dark hair and these luscious lips and sultry eyes.  Whooo."

            "I see.  And where did they go?" she said, trying to keep the bite out of her tone.

            "Down to the Caribbean, New Cuba."

            "Right.  That sounds about right.  Now can you tell me if he filed a return flight plan?"

            "Nope.  I got the impression they was going to be gone for a while."

            "Thank you," she replied tersely and slammed the phone down.  She picked up the lamp on the bedside table, ripped the plug from the wall, and with a primitive cry of fury hurled it across the room, the cord trailing behind like a kite's tail.  It hit the opposite wall with a satisfying explosion.  Shards of the porcelain base fell to the floor like snowflakes and the shade dropped on top of them with a small clatter.  Hands clenched at her side, her field of vision seemed to shrink and expand with the powerful thump of her heartbeat and a slightly crimson haze appeared to settle over the entire room.  She knew the meaning of the term 'seeing red.'  

            She stormed out of her hotel room and walked down the corridor to another room door, rapping sharply on it.  A redheaded girl whose name was Peggy answered.  "Hey Mrs. Wayne," she said politely.

            "I need to speak with Isabella," she responded harshly.

            The girl's face fell a bit, but she walked back into the room and a few moments later Isabella appeared.  "What's up?" she asked.

            "Pack your things.  We're leaving."

            "Why?" Isabella asked, eyes wide with apprehension.

            "Just do it," Mardi commanded.  "Be ready in twenty minutes."  She turned without waiting for confirmation and went to another door where she told Isabella's teacher that there was an emergency at home and they would be leaving immediately.  She didn't wait around for the woman to quiz her to the nature of the emergency.

            Five hours later they boarded an international flight headed west towards Metropolis, where they'd hire a plane to fly them back to Gotham.  Isabella sat by the window staring sulkily out at the darkness of the night sky while Mardi stared into her own darkness of thought, hands gripping the arms of the first class seat, but completely unaware of the pain it caused her.  Her original instinct had been to go directly to New Cuba, but dismissed it as a too impulsive and overly emotional reaction.  She had no idea where he would be or what she would do.  No, it was better to go straight home and take things from there.

            Over and over she tried to make sense of his actions.  Surely there must be a logical reason for him flying all the way down to a tropical paradise with a gorgeous woman, certainly if he took Terry along with him it must be innocent.  Maybe it was nothing.  Maybe she'd overreacted.  Then again, maybe not.

  
  


_Now that the world isn't ending, it's love that I'm sending to you.   
It isn't the love of a hero, and that's why I fear it won't do.  
  
_

            "_Intruder alert,_" the soft computer voice announced.  Bruce frowned and depressed a series of keys on the computer console, bringing up an overhead view of the estate.  The front gate had been opened.  A check of the log showed that it was accessed via the proper security code, which meant one of two people had entered it and one of them he knew was out on patrol and would have come in through the cave entrance if he'd returned.

            It was Sunday afternoon.  He'd been home for only twelve hours himself, and wasn't expecting them back from France for another week at which time he had hoped to be closer to his previous and natural state, or at least disguise himself appropriately until such time as he did return to normal.  Standing fluidly with no effort or pain he looked down at Ace, who had been napping at his feet.  "This should be interesting."

            He ascended the stone steps that lead from the cave into the study and watched silently from the doorway as his wife and daughter stepped through the front entrance, dropping armloads of luggage onto the parquet floor and slamming the door behind them.  Neither noticed him observing them immediately.  Without speaking they removed their coats, barely acknowledging each other, a veil of tension enveloping them.

            It was Isabella who spotted him first.  "Daddy?" she asked in confusion.   "Is that you?"

            He nodded to her wordlessly, aware of the shock she must be feeling.  He appeared thirty years younger than he should.  More and more gray had crept into his hair since the emersion in the Pit, but it wasn't enough.  His back was too straight, his face too smooth.  

            Mardi looked upon him with no emotion, no surprise.  To Isabella, she said, "Go to your room."

            "But Mom…"

            "Don't argue with me," she replied coldly.  Isabella frowned but did as she was told. 

            "What are you doing home?" he asked, wondering what could have happened on the trip to cause her black mood.

            She moved towards him, advancing on him so steadily he was forced to back his way into the study with a growing uneasiness.  Without looking she reached back and slammed the door shut with such force it shook the desk lamp.

            "Who is she?" she whispered through gritted teeth, explaining her overt hostility.

            "How did you know?" 

            "You think you're the only one in this family who can do a little detective work?" she sneered.  "Who is she?"

            "It's a long story."

            "I've got plenty of time, though not as much as you it seems.  Now tell me _who is she_?!"

            "An old friend."

            Her face relaxed into a deceptive smile.  "From what I gather, she's not that old.  Try harder," she growled.

            Bruce clenched his fists at his sides, unused to being given the third degree, but, he reminded himself, he did make a vow to this woman, one he'd come terribly close to breaking.  "Sit down," he said softly.

            She shook her head.  "No.  Tell me."

            "She was someone special, someone I loved," he finally admitted, guilt flowing through him as he witnessed the pain that swept over her face.  "Her name was Talia, and her father was an old nemesis of mine, Ra's al Ghul, which loosely translates to Demon Head.  And that's what he was – a demon.  He lived for centuries by immersing himself in the Lazarus Pits that restored his youth time after time.  Talia showed up the night of my birthday and offered me the use of one of the pits, which she'd apparently been using herself."

            "Of course you jumped at the chance."

            "No," he said firmly.  "I refused, though she assured me that the process was much safer, that she herself had used them, I didn't want to.  But then something happened.  I almost died, and a woman almost died alongside me because I was unable to do what I used to.  It frightened me," he admitted.

            "You're breaking my heart," she replied coldly.  "Get to the part where you fly off with your ex."

            "It wasn't like that," he tried to say, though it felt like a lie in his mouth.  "Besides, it wasn't her.  We found out Ra's had sacrificed her when he could no longer regenerate his own body, by implanting his consciousness into hers.  He killed her and he was going to do the same to me."

            "Oh," she said flatly.  "Lucky me he didn't succeed."   They stared at each other across the insignificant few feet of carpet that may as well have been the Grand Canyon.    "I can't believe I was so foolish to think you could ever really care about me," she muttered helplessly.  "I guess I turned out to be another in the long line of your conquests.  What happens now?" 

            "Nothing has changed.  And I have always loved you," he told her, trying to convince her, maybe trying to convince them both.

            "No!  You can't.  You cannot possibly love me the way a _normal_ man loves a _normal_ woman!  You and that festering wound of an alter ego, you can only fall in love with the daughter of a…a…_demon!_" she spat.  "And _everything_ has changed.  You went away with her, and the evidence of your decision is irrefutable.  Just look at you!"  With a deep, composing breath she continued in a calmer vein.  "Just answer me this – what did you first think when she showed up on your doorstep, what was the very first thing that crossed your mind when you saw her?  Fess up Bruce, honesty is good for the soul."

            He closed his eyes for a moment.  "Don't do this," he pleaded quietly.

            "Too ashamed?  Go ahead and answer me.  You can't hurt me anymore than you already have."

            He couldn't bring himself to lie.  "I thought how much I had missed her."

            She nodded in approval.  "And just what were you planning on doing after your little swim in the fountain of youth from hell?  What was going to happen if old Rash the Demon hadn't used your girlfriend as a timeshare?  Bring her back here and set up house? After all, I was only a distraction from the boredom of retirement, right?  Disposable as it were."

            "No, that's not true.  I can't tell you what I was thinking.  It was vanity, fear, I don't know, but I am sorry.  Yes I loved her and it hurts that her own father used her in such a callous way, but she was my past and you are my present."  He thought about Isabella.  "And my future.  I married you because I wanted to, and I would do it all again, without hesitation."

            "That's supposed to make everything all right?" she asked bitterly. 

            "You have to trust me." 

            "It's not that easy anymore," she told him.

            "I know, but I'm not your enemy."

            Her head dropped down almost as if in defeat and he stepped closer, placing his arm around her shoulders.  "God help me, but I don't think I can live without you," he heard her whispered.  "Not that I'm so deluded I believe the feeling is mutual."

            He didn't bother to respond.  He couldn't.  A life full of loss had inured him to such emotional upheaval.  But it would hurt if he lost her, though would it hurt as much as learning that Talia was gone forever, he wondered.  He closed the thought down before he could begin to formulate the answer.  It was an unfair comparison, unfair to both women.  Instead he held his trembling wife against him.

            She calmed down after a time and looked up at him.  Clearing her throat she spoke, "How are we supposed to explain this to people?"

            "Won't have to," he answered.  "It requires several treatments for the regeneration to take permanently.  I'll be back to my old self in less than a month."

            "Good."

            "Good?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

            "Yes.  Who knows what kind of trouble you could get into like that."

            Bruce nodded and raised his right hand, drawing his fingertips gently down the slope of her throat.  "Trouble does have a way of finding me."  He bent and cautiously grazed his lips over hers, feeling an immediate response as she stretched her neck for more.  He obliged and began kissing her in earnest, soft and slow, creating the spark that would grow into a fire that would develop into a raging inferno.

            When he pulled away he felt as much as heard her whisper, "Please," with an urgent need that echoed his own deep longing.

            His arm slipped around her waist and hefted her small frame easily into the air, setting her down on the edge of the antique oak desk that had belonged to his father and his grandfather before him.  He renewed his hungry attack on her mouth making up for years of lost time as agile fingers deftly worked at the buttons of her blouse.  It wouldn't last long, this borrowed youth, which by and large he was grateful for, but in this one instance as he was able to make love to his wife for the first time in years, he sent out a silent prayer of thanks.

            She was so completely human, both flawed and beautiful.  It was difficult to ignore the irony that she totally detested that part which defined him, which drove him so utterly and mercilessly his entire life, but perhaps in knowing her he'd finally learned a little about what it meant to be human.  The Dark Knight would always exist, would always be needed in any world this side of paradise, but maybe it could be said that she'd given him a small taste of the peace and happiness that the parents of Bruce Wayne would have wished for their son's life.

            Having weathered every storm his eccentric lifestyle threw at her, she still stood by him, offering him one bright warm island of solace in the darkness.  Holding her in his arms now was amazing and wonderful and…

            "Perfect," he muttered into the silken skin of her throat.

            "Not quite," she rasped, hands gripping at his shoulders like a woman drowning.  "But you're getting there."

  
  


_And they say that a hero can save us.  
I'm not gonna stand here and wait.   
I'll hold onto the wings of the eagles.   
Watch as they all fly away._

_  
_All lyrics from Hero by Chad Kroeger and Josey Scott


	29. In Another Lifetime (Part I)

A/N:  To everyone who has read this far, you have my supreme thanks and admiration for your perseverance and open-mindedness.  For those who have left reviews or sent me your personal comments, I owe you a tremendous debt of gratitude for you truly kept me going!  I'm going to leave you with a two-part, soap opera-style finale fitting for a story that has essentially become a soap opera!  It's strange, but I think it wraps things up quite nicely.  I hope you enjoy it.

In Another Lifetime  (Part I) 

_I recognize the way you make me feel   
It's hard to think that you might not be real   
I sense it now, the water's getting deep   
I try to wash the pain away from me   
Away from me   
  
'Cause you're everywhere to me   
And when I close my eyes it's you I see   
You're everything I know that makes me believe   
I'm not alone   
I'm not alone   
_  
Everywhere, Michelle Branch

            Mardi leaned forward and grunted painfully.  Bruce held one hand in support.  She was sweating profusely and her face was flushed from the exertion.  Each contraction seemed to sap more and more of her waning strength.  He was growing increasingly worried.

            She lay back on the bed as the spasm passed and gasped for air.  Bruce dotted her clammy forehead gently with a towel and tried to smile in assurance.  She just looked up at him in silence.  And that was perhaps the most disturbing element.  When she'd given birth to Isabella she had reached deep down into her lower middle class upbringing and invoked every curse he'd ever heard, and a few he hadn't.  Now she just shivered and gnawed at her lower lip.

            "I don't think she can do this much longer," he quietly told the doctor, a middle-aged woman named Sabine Brinkman.

            Dr. Brinkman glared at him, and then said, "She's doing just fine, aren't you Mardi?"  In response Mardi screamed and doubled over as another contraction rolled through her.

            Bruce was extremely unhappy with the situation.  He was ambivalent about the arrival of a new baby, though he supposed he would grow to care about it.  But when she had first told him that their liaison following his brief rejuvenation had produced an unexpected side effect, he was concerned for her well-being more than anything else.  She'd told him that the doctor had assured her it was not uncommon for older women to successfully give birth, and with the exception of a few precautions things should be business as usual.

            And now, almost twelve hours after she'd felt her first labor pain on Christmas Eve, a full month ahead of the due date, his concerns continued to climb.

            He was about to tell the doctor that they needed to do something a little more proactive when he felt a change in the pressure from her hand.  He gazed down at her and watched as she moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue.  Her mouth opened slightly and a small hiss of air escaped.  "…love you," she sighed.  Then her eyes rolled back into her head until only the whites were visible.

            Before he could say anything a voice on the other side of the bed cried out, "She's crashing Doctor!  Pressure and heart rate are plummeting!"

            Dr. Brinkman jumped up from her perch at the foot of the bed.  "Get her prepped for surgery."

            "What's happening?" Bruce demanded.

            "I'm sorry Bruce, you're going to have to leave.  I don't have time for explanations now."  A nurse appeared at his elbow and escorted him to the exit.  As the double doors closed behind him he heard the doctor's voice yell, "Let's get that baby out before we lose them both!"

            The world came back to her small pieces at a time – a snatch of conversation, the sensation of being touched – but nothing solidified.  Her thoughts jumbled and at times she felt weightless.  Was this what dead was like?

            And then like a swimmer breaking water her consciousness surfaced and took hold.  She breathed deeply and felt the weight of a sheet on her rising chest.  She was lying in a bed, she surmised.  That was a good start.

            Somewhere around her people were speaking, soft voices, intimate voices.  She tried to open her eyes but the light stabbed at her brain and she closed them again tightly.  Much better.  Once the reverberating pain had subsided she tried to concentrate on the words that were being said.

            "…just can't take it anymore.  How much longer?"

            "…never can tell…have your own life…I'm here for you."

            "If it wasn't for you I don't think I could have survived this."

            "Come here and show me your gratitude."

            Mardi attempted to open her eyes once again, this time taking it slowly, raising the lids a mere crack to let her pupils adjust to the light.  Once she was able to open them fully she looked around her surroundings.  White walls, white floor, white curtains, white bed linens.  Tubes and cords of all sizes and colors stretched from her bed to surrounding equipment.  Hospital.  The baby.  It was all coming back.  There'd been something wrong when she went into labor.  Where was Bruce?

            In the corner she saw two people clutching at each other so desperately it was almost impossible to tell where one ended and the other began.  The shorter of the two sported a long white lab coat with slender nylon-covered legs poking out beneath and ended in a pair of shapely feet inserted into what looked like very expensive shoes.  The other was male with brown hair.  They're faces were melded in a kiss that looked as uncomfortable as it was passionate.  

            She was about to alert the couple that the patient-in-residence had awakened when something about the man caught her attention, something so familiar it was eerie.  Then she recalled the bits of conversation.  The male voice had sounded familiar as well.  But that was impossible.

            Lips parted and she attempted to say something, anything, but all that came out was a dull croak.  She cleared her throat to try again.  By this time the lovers had jumped apart and were looking at the bed with wide eyes and expressions of disbelief that must have mirrored Mardi's own as she looked into the face of her long-dead husband.

            "Darren?" she said, her throat coated with sandpaper.

            "Mardi, baby!" the man exclaimed.  "You're awake.  It's a miracle!  Isn't it a miracle doctor?" he turned and posed the question to the other woman, who smiled chillily and nodded.

            "Well, well," the doctor said approaching the bedside.  Her hair was a frosted blonde, styled so perfectly a hurricane couldn't move a strand out of place, and her eyes were an emotionless icy blue.  Beneath her white coat were clothes both fashionable and extravagant.   "So you've decided to join the land of the living, hmm?" she asked Mardi.  "I'm Dr. Evans, I've been caring for you since you came in."

            "I'm sure," Mardi responded, then looked beyond her caregiver to the man who shouldn't be there.  "Darren, is that you?"

            "Of course it is, baby.   Are you having trouble seeing?"  He looked to the doctor with concern.  "Maybe the blow to the head affected her vision?"

            "There's _nothing_ wrong with my eyesight.  But you're dead.  You died in the car accident.  You can't be here."

            "Oh baby, no," he said.  "You were the one who was hurt.  I'm fine."  He smiled unpleasantly and patted her leg.  "Don't worry baby, I don't blame you for almost getting us killed."  

            "Mrs. Shelbey, you've been in a coma for three months," Dr. Evans told her, almost gleefully.  "You do remember the accident, right?"

            "Of course," Mardi snapped and turned her head away to look out the window.  Something was wrong, so very wrong.  Was it some sort of prank, a bad joke?  She didn't think so, and besides that didn't explain the dead man standing before her trying to hide his guilt with a not very convincing mask of concern.  It would be so like him to be making out with a woman in front of her unconscious body.  Probably got off on it, the pervert.  "I've got to go to the bathroom," she announced, throwing the bed sheets off her.

            "Oh no!" the doctor exclaimed.  "You can't just get up.  You've been inactive for three months, you won't even be able to walk."

            Mardi narrowed her eyes at the woman.  "I'm getting out of this bed and I'm going into that bathroom.  You can either help me or get the hell out of my way."

            The doctor's head reared back in indignation.  "Well if you insist, I'll call a nurse to assist you," she replied, voice taut with ire.

            Appeased for the moment, Mardi settled back against her pillow as the doctor pressed the call button.  The three people avoided eye contact during the interim, Darren shuffling his feet impatiently the whole time.

            The door opened and a young woman came in with a bright smile.  "You're awake.  That's fantastic!"  She breezed past the doctor and stood at Mardi's side.  "I'm Becka.  What can I do for you?"

            "I want to go to the bathroom.  I've got to get out of this bed," Mardi told her desperately, the feeling of being trapped in a horrible nightmare becoming unbearable.

            "Sure thing honey."  Becka went to work removing the IVs, the patches monitoring her heart and brain activity, and other medical paraphernalia used to keep her inactive body alive for so long.  Then she went out into the hall and returned with a wheelchair.  "Okay, you're going to have to trust me, or we're both going to get hurt, understand?"  Mardi nodded and allowed her to maneuver her legs over the side of the bed.  She was disconcerted to note she didn't even have enough strength to sit up on her own power.  Becka grabbed her arms and hefted her into a seated position, then with an "Alley-oop!" she put her shoulder underneath Mardi's armpit and in one smooth movement pivoted her to the awaiting chair.  "That wasn't so bad now was it?" she asked kindly, then got behind the chair and pushed it into the adjoining bathroom.

            The room was designed for the wheelchair-bound patients, rails lined all the walls, the shower was wide with a bench along one side, and there was a lowered sink with a large mirror above it angled downward.

            "Let me give you a hand," Becka offered.

            "No!" Mardi said sharply.  "I'll be fine.  Thank you."

            "Okay," Becka replied with hesitation.  "But I'll be right outside if you need anything."  Then she was gone and the door closed behind her.

            Grabbing the large rear wheels of the chair she positioned herself in front of the sink with a modicum of effort.  With trepidation she raised her eyes to the face in the mirror and almost cried out.  "No," she moaned quietly as she looked at the face of a woman who wasn't even thirty yet.  Reaching up she touched her fingertips to her cheek.  The skin was supple and smooth, untouched by age or worry.  Though matted and flat from laying on it, her hair was long, flowing way past her shoulders in a style she hadn't had in many, many years.  She could even see the blonde highlights she'd gotten for her birthday as a lark, the ones Darren had said make her look like a prostitute.

            "This can't be happening."  Tears dripped down her face.  Gone, they were all gone.  It had been some sort of prolonged, coma-induced dream.  Burying her face in her hands she sobbed uncontrollably.  Gotham wasn't even a real city, there was no such person as Bruce Wayne.  She'd never had a daughter.

            But it all still felt so real, her heart breaking even as her mind caught up with the facts.  She was going to have to live her life all over again and without the people that meant so much to her.

            A soft knock at the door pulled her away from her contemplation and Becka called out, "Are you okay in there?"

            Mardi reached forward and pulled on the lever for the cold water.  She cupped her hands under the stream and brought them up to clean her tear-streaked face.  Then she rolled the chair to the door and went back into the room.  "Sorry," she mumbled and rolled over to the bed.  Becka was there in an instant and helped her back into it.

            "Feel better?" asked Dr. Evans, arms crossed over her chest.

            "I will when I get a new doctor."

            "Excuse me?" the woman sputtered as a frown threatened to crack her fine porcelain skin.

            "I saw you snogging my…" she closed her eyes and swallowed, "husband.  Get out."

            "Now baby," Darren came forward.  "Don't overreact like you always do."

            "You get out too.  For good.  And I don't want to see your face again unless it's to tell me we're divorced.  On second thought just send a telegram."

            "Mardi…"

            "Get out!" she screamed with such force that all present reacted physically.

            Dr. Evans and Darren looked at each other and then departed together, the door swishing gently behind them.  Mardi felt herself relax a little in their absence.  Becka clucked her tongue and pulled the sheet up to Mardi's chest.  "She's known as the hospital slut.  Of course my mama always said that men like him are the reason God created shotguns."  Despite the black hole of desolation that was her existence, Mardi smiled at the woman weakly.  "Try and get some sleep."

            "Don't you think I've slept enough?"

            "Maybe, but you need your rest.  Tomorrow's going to be a big day.  You'll be starting physical therapy.  You'll be walking out of here in no time."  Then she was gone.

            Mardi stared at the empty wall trying not to think about what had never happened, but the memories were too powerful.  Eventually she did close her eyes, hoping that in sleep she would revisit her dream world.

            First thing following breakfast the next day Mardi showered in the large stall and then Becka helped her into a set of gray hospital sweats that were soft and comfortable.  Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail and she felt like the world's oldest teenager.

            Becka pushed her in the wheelchair down the hall and to a bank of elevators that took them down two floors.  "You hit the jackpot hon," Becka told her as she leisurely strolled along.  "You've got the big guy himself, Wayne."

            "Wayne?" Mardi gasped.  "That's his first name?"

            "Yep.  He's the head therapist.  Some people call him The Bulldog because he's so tough and bullies the patients.  He's the best though, always gets results, no arguing there.  Personally, I call him Wayne the Pain.  Got an ego the size of Jupiter on him."

            It's just a coincidence, Mardi told herself.  Just something to get used to, small reminders popping up everywhere.

            "Of course he is to die for.  Every female in the building would like to shag him silly."

            "Including you?" Mardi asked with a raised eyebrow.

            "Hey I'm not stupid, I wouldn't kick him out of my bed, but any woman who wants to be in a long-term relationship with the guy needs to have the patience of a saint and the attitude of a dominatrix."

            Mardi sputtered in laughter as the elevator opened and Becka shoved her out into a small corridor and then through a large set of double doors.  Inside was a cavernous room filled with a variety of machines and equipment to rival the most pretentious health club.  Becka wheeled her into the center of the room.  "Wonder where the mah-ster is?" she affected a British accent quietly to Mardi, then yelled out, "Hey anybody home?"

            From a back corner office a man immerged, dressed completely in white from his white polo shirt to the white crepe-soled shoes.  He closed the gap between them slowly and Mardi's head buzzed as she has plenty of time to take in each and every feature.  His hair was jet black and he appeared to be in his early to mid forties, but other than that he was the spitting image of the man she'd dreamt about.

            He stopped and held his hand out to her.  "You must be Mardi.  I'm Wayne."  The nametag on his shirt proclaimed his full name to be Wayne B. Thomason.  She took his offered hand and felt a thousand volts of electricity shoot through her at his touch.  "Are you ready to work?" he asked in the rich voice that she remembered so well.

            "I'll be back for you in forty-five minutes," Becka said patting her on the shoulder.  "Don't let him boss you around.  Despite what he thinks, he's not God."  She turned and headed back out the doors.

            Alone, Mardi looked at him and asked as naturally as possible, "Well is that true?"

            "As far as you're concerned, if you want to walk again, in here I _am_ God," he responded then surprised her by bending down and lifting her easily out of the chair.  "Don't get too used to this."  He walked over to a large mat in the corner and set her gently down on her back.  "You were in an accident?  No spinal damage?" he asked her as he lifted one leg bending it at the knee and slowly pushing it towards her chest.

            Mardi gasped as her muscles resisted painfully.  "No," she grunted.  "Just a concussion, and a nice long nap."  He took her through a series of stretches, doing several slow sets of each.  Her eyes watered as each time she felt something was close to tearing, but did not share her fears with him, instinctively trusting him.  He rolled her onto her stomach and started anew. 

            Unable to help herself, the silence in which he worked becoming stifling and curiosity bubbling through her, she asked, "Are you married?"

            He paused, then responded, "I'm widowed.  My wife died five years ago."

            "I'm sorry.  What was her name?"

            He waited even longer this time before replying, "Selina."

            "Oh." She was slightly disappointed, hoping that he was even more connected to her dream than his name and face would suggest.  Though if he'd said Talia she was sure she'd have screamed herself insane.  "What about your parents?"

            "What about them?" he asked testily.

            "Where are they?"

            "They've retired to Boca.  They enjoy golf and deep sea fishing."

            "Any siblings?"

            He dropped her foot and moved into her field of vision.  "None.  Why the twenty questions?"

            She looked into his eyes.  "Just curious."

            "Didn't you know that curiosity killed the cat?" he asked almost unpleasantly.

            "I'm not a cat.  Besides considering how, um, close we're going to be, I just thought we should get to know each other."

            He blinked at her as if it was a totally alien concept.  "Are you married?" he finally asked.

            "Soon to be divorced."

            "Why?"

            "He's an immature jerk who was making out with my doctor while I was unconscious."

            "Dr. Evans?"

            Her eyebrows shot up in surprise.  "Yeah.  How did you know?"

            "She has a…reputation."  He paused for a beat.  "Have we gotten to know each other enough to get back to work?"

            Mardi frowned.  "What does the 'B' stand for?  In your name?"

            "Bruce."

            "Ah."  She closed her eyes.  "Yeah, that's good for now I guess."

            Stretching done, he moved her to a machine in the corner where he laid her down horizontally with her legs bent at the knees and her feet placed against moveable platforms that could have weights attached for more resistance.  He removed all the weights and told her to straighten her legs.

            "Are you kidding?"

            "Push.  You can do it."

            She tried, grunting with exertion.  The platforms moved half an inch and then slammed back into place.  "That's it.  I can't do anymore."

            "Do you usually give up so easily?"

            "Are you always so unfriendly?" she said testily, her legs feeling like they were on fire.

            "Yes.  Now try harder."

            "I can't!"

            "You mean won't."

            "Fuck you."

            "Not on my time.  Push."

            Thirty minutes and five machines later, she was back, face down on the mat as he was doing cool down stretches.  She was sore and completely exhausted, but as he gently, almost tenderly, pushed and pulled her legs, she became contemplative.  "Do you believe in heroes?"

            He frowned.  "Like in a comic book?"   She nodded.  "They're not real.  Nothing to believe in."

            "But there are real heroes.  Like you for instance."

            "I'm no hero."

            "To the people you help to walk again, I'm sure you are."

            He didn't bother to answer.  He stood up and stepped one foot over her so that he was straddling her back.  He reached down and gripped her armpits and hauled her into a standing position, holding her against his body with strong arms.  "Hold on to me and try to stand," he commanded.

            Mardi almost panicked as his grip loosened.  She clawed at his arms, but still felt herself slipping downwards.  "No!" she cried out as her legs betrayed her.

            He caught her and held her against him once again.  "I know it seems impossible now," he said huskily into her ear.  "But in a week you'll be able to stand on your own.  In two weeks you'll be walking, and in a month you'll be ready to run a marathon."

            "I've never run a marathon," she said softly.

            "Then we'll run one together."

            His voice was like silk in her ears and his arms felt incredibly good around her, but before she could take a second to appreciate it, a sharp, gripping pain claimed her right thigh as its own.  "Oh God!" she yelped, tears stinging her eyes.

            He eased her down onto her back gently and she clawed at the rock hard muscle that throbbed unbearably.  He moved her hands out of the way and began to apply expert pressure on the area, rubbing, pressing, and smoothing out the knot.  She let out a long sigh of relief as the pain subsided.  He stopped massaging and left his hand firmly planted on her leg, the heat easily transferred through the thin sweatpants.  "Your muscles have gotten lazy after having a three-month vacation.  You're going to have to work hard to get them functioning properly again."  His blue eyes scrutinized her intensely.  "Our time's up."

            He deposited her back into the chair just in time for Becka to come swinging through the doors.  "Everybody still alive?" she chirped.

            "Until next time," Wayne said to Mardi then turned and made his way back towards the office in long, slow strides.

_And when I touch your hand   
It's then I understand   
The beauty that's within   
It's now that we begin   
You always light my way   
I hope there never comes a day   
No matter where I go   
I always feel you so   
  
'Cause you're everywhere to me   
And when I close my eyes it's you I see   
You're everything I know that makes me believe   
I'm not alone_


	30. In Another Lifetime (Part II)

In Another Lifetime (Part II) 

_And maybe, I'll find out   
A way to make it back someday   
To watch you, to guide you  
Through the darkest of your days   
If a great wave shall fall and fall upon us all   
Then I hope there's someone out there   
Who can bring me back to you_   
  
Wherever You Will Go, The Calling

            No therapy was scheduled for the following day to give Mardi's overtaxed muscles a chance to rest.  By the time her lunch tray was taken away she was bored out of her mind.  There was nothing on television, which she knew after having surfed through all the channels fifteen times; the magazines were thoroughly depressing due to the fact their 'current events' reminded her that this was still what she'd considered the past; and she couldn't bring herself to even touch the book a kindly volunteer had offered her from the rolling cart – a dog-eared paperback of Charlotte Bronte's classic novel 'Jane Eyre'.

            Outside a heavy spring thunderstorm offered a different type of entertainment, the rain creating and recreating abstract patterns on the window glass.  With a dire need to be out of bed, she decided that watching nature's own stage show might keep her occupied for a while. Not wanting to disturb the nursing staff, Mardi raised the head of the bed to its uppermost position and removed her bed sheets in preparation to make the journey alone.  Pulling first her right leg then her left over the edge of the bed, making sure she didn't allow her upper body to fall backwards, she sat and stared down at the ground below.  Shouldn't be too much trouble since gravity would do all the work, she figured.  She pushed herself over the edge and dropped to the floor with a groan of pain as her knees cracked against the tiles.  Now resting on her hands and knees, she eyed the chair in the corner, estimating it to be about an eight feet crawl.  No sweat.

            She willed her knees forward and they did, inch by inch, slowly but on their own power.  By the time she could reach up and rest her arm on the seat of the chair she was worn out and obscenely proud.  She was debating to herself the best way to get her butt into the chair when a soft swishing sound alerted her that the door was opened.  She waited patiently for the sound of Becka or one of the other nurses to chastise her, but none ever came.

            Soft footsteps closed in and a deep, slightly amused voice asked, "Need a hand?"  A pair of large white shoes appeared on her peripheral vision.

            "No I'm good – " she started to respond but suddenly found herself lifted into the air and set in the chair like an unruly child.  "I thought physical therapists were supposed to encourage independence," she muttered, trying to retain as much dignity as possible after having been found scuttling across the floor.

            "I'm not here as your therapist," was the enigmatic reply.

            "Then why are you here?"

            He stared purposefully out into the gray, dismal day and spoke as if to the rain itself.  "Yesterday, during your session, I had the uncomfortable feeling as if I had already known you, but I never forget a face and we've never met before yesterday, have we?"

            "Not in this lifetime."

            He glanced at her over his shoulder.  "You believe in reincarnation?"

            "No," she said with a small laugh.

            "But you feel it too don't you?"  He looked at her intently and she couldn't bring herself to answer the question.

            "Do you have any children?" she asked instead.

            "Two sons."

            "Let me guess, one of them is named Dick?"

            "How did you know?"

            She shrugged.  "Lucky guess."

            "There's something you're not telling me."

            "Time flies when you're having fun?"

            He opened his mouth, but before he could say anything the door opened.  Becka slipped in and stopped when she saw the two of them.  "Well what do we have here?"

            Wayne looked down at Mardi.  "You _will_ tell me some day," he said in a low, serious voice and then passed Becka without comment to leave the room.

            Becka watched him go, then turned back to Mardi.  "He never comes up to the wards.  What did you do to him?"

            "It's just my charming personality I suppose."

            "Yeah, well speaking of charming personalities, I came in to tell you that your husband's here to see you.  He's got some papers for you to sign."

            Mardi's mouth dropped open.  "Already?"  She shook her head in disgust.  "Didn't waste any time, did he?  Send him in."

            "You want me to help you back into bed?"

            "No way."

            Becka left the room and seconds later Darren swept in, a thick folded document in one hand.  "How are you doing?" he asked.

            "Better every second.  What's that?"

            "Oh this?" he held up his hand.  "It's what you wanted remember?"

            Mardi reached out and he handed her the papers, getting a pen out of his pocket as she unfolded them to see 'Decree of Dissolution of Marriage' writ across the top.  About a quarter of the way down the front sheet she saw her name listed as the defendant in the legal petition.  Nonchalantly, as she was flipping through the half-dozen pages, she asked, "How long have you had these?"

            He flushed and looked uncomfortably at the wall over her head.  "Um, since before the accident."

            She took in a deep breath and nodded.  Taking the pen she signed and initialed in all the marked spots.  "I've already moved my things out of the house," he told her.  "You can stay there as long as you like."

            "That's great, just great," she said bitterly handing him the papers.  "What happened between us?" she asked with a suddenly urgent need to know.

            "I don't think this is the time…."

            "Please."

            "You were beautiful and unapproachable, like you were playing hard to get.  It was a challenge mostly, but then I realized too late that you weren't playing hard to get, you really think you're better than everyone else.  You're conceited in the worst way Mardi, with your opinions and righteous indignation, and you never give an inch on any subject.  No man is ever going to want to deal with your constant emasculation and head games.  You are a high-maintenance shrew and the fact is you're just not worth the effort."

            "Go to hell Darren," she choked through her tears.  "And stay there this time."

            True to his word, Mardi was standing with the use of a walker by her third session.  At the end of the following week she was walking with only minimal assistance, and though she wasn't quite ready for a marathon, after almost four weeks she jogged along at a modest speed on a treadmill, a huge smile on her face as her legs pumped away easily a set of headphones blaring some popular rock music.

            Wayne walked up and stood in front of her, hands on his hips.  She pressed a button to halt the treadmill's conveyer belt and then reached down to shut off the tape.  Her mouth was dry from panting and sweat dripped down her face.  "Hey," she said happily to him.

            "I've just talked to your doctor.  You're being released tomorrow."

            "Oh," she replied numbly.  "So that means…"

            "You're done.  You can leave now."  Then he was gone, out of her sight, and seemingly out of her life forever.  

            She quelled the urge to run after him and proclaim her undying love.  That was an adolescent response.  She was afraid to let that one last connection to her dream finally be severed.  Better to have a clean break and a fresh start, no matter how painful that may be.

            "If you need anything feel free to call," the elderly doctor said to her as she clutched the bag of few belongings she'd acquired during her hospital stay.  They were standing between the main lobby and the admissions desk, with the elevator kiosk off to the side.  She kept looking at it longingly, admonishing herself for her silliness.

            "Thank you, Doctor," she replied absently, not bothering to look at the man.

            "Was there anything else Mardi?"

            "No.  No I guess not." 

            "Very well then.  Take care."

            "Sure.  Thanks." 

            He walked over to the elevators and pressed the Up button.  Dejectedly Mardi turned and started for the door, shoulders slumped, feet shuffling along.  Halfway to the door she heard the melodic ding signaling the elevator's arrival.  Heavy footsteps advanced on her from behind and a deep voice called out, "Leaving without saying goodbye?"

            Mardi whirled around, amazed to see him.  "Oh," she muttered.  "I thought that…well…yesterday being…you know…"  Words seemed to fail her.

            "You still owe me an explanation," he reminded her.  "Let's sit down."  He took hold of her arm and led her to a set of chairs provided to accommodate visiting family and friends.  They sat across from each other, Mardi clutching her bag like a life preserver.  "Well?" he prompted.

            "It's a little farfetched," she began, but he gave no sign that he was worried.  "I had this really vivid dream while I was in the coma.  You were there, only different.  Your parents had been murdered and you dedicated your life to…to…"

            "Go on," he said gently.

            "You became this urban warrior called the Batman."  She laughed uncomfortably.  "I know it sounds ridiculous."  She scratched her nose.  "We were married.  For quite a while.  Had a beautiful daughter.  Just a stupid dream."

            "What's the last thing you remember about the dream?"

            "I was having a baby.  Our second."  She frowned and unconsciously placed her hand over her stomach.  "Something went wrong.  I don't even know if the baby survived."  Her head shot up.  "What am I saying?  It was just a dream."

            "Maybe it wasn't," he said to her.

            "What?"

            "Maybe this is the dream."

            "Don't be ridiculous!"

            "How can you explain the fact that I was in a dream when we had never met before or that I felt like I knew you or that you knew my son's name?"

            "You can't be serious!  This is real.  This is _normal_!  People do not go around in costumes fighting crime.  My daughter does not have to save me from an assassin.  And no one is a walking toxic waste dump."  She stood up, her bag falling unnoticed to the floor.  "This is the real world," she declared again.  "This is right!"

            "Right for you," he stated softly.

            "Of course for me!  You weren't there.  You don't have any idea how awful it was."

            "How can you be so selfish?"

            "Wha…?  I'm not the one who lied about who I was for fifteen years.  I'm not the one who ran off with some woman, yet insisted it was just nothing."

            With a sound of disgust she turned and stormed out the door, walking into the bright, warm sunshine, feeling the heat permeate through her, comforting her.

            "What about your children?  What did they do to deserve your punishment?" he asked, following her out into the day.

            "How dare you!" she yelled as she faced him, finger pointing accusingly.  "I would never do anything to hurt my children!  They mean more than anything…Oh no," she groaned, dropping her hand, defeated, dejected, confused.  "Even if what you are saying is true, I have no control over this."

            "Is that so?" he asked and pointed over her shoulder.  Where the parking lot should be was a wall of shimmering blues and greens reaching to infinity in every direction.

            "Oh."

            "You have a choice to make."

            "Yeah," she said weakly.

            "You could stay."  She looked at him in question.  "You could choose to stay here with me, but I'm sure you wouldn't be happy knowing it wasn't real."

            "No," she agreed softly.  "Maybe in another lifetime."

            Then she turned away from him and made herself move forward, one foot in front of the other, step after step, walking, walking towards that shimmering curtain that symbolized the edge of her subconscious.

            "How are you feeling?" Dr. Brinkman asked kindly from the side of her bed.

            "Like I just gave birth to an entire football team," Mardi responded thickly.

            "No," the doctor smiled.  "Just a beautiful healthy baby girl."

            "Can I see her?"

            Dr. Brinkman looked across the bed to Bruce.  "I'll call the nanny and have her brought up this evening," he responded.

            "Nanny?" Mardi asked.

            "You don't think I'm going to be changing diapers myself?" he said.

            Mardi laughed weakly.  "Right, like you were such a big help the first time around.  What I meant was, how long has it been?"

            Another look was shared across the bed.  Dr. Brinkman finally answered, "Three weeks."

            "Why?  What happened?"

            "We don't know Mardi.  The surgery was touch and go for a while, but you pulled through famously.  You just…didn't wake up.  There was no medical explanation for it."  She squeezed Mardi's shoulder.  "I'll give you a thorough exam in the morning, but I expect I'll be discharging you."

            "Really?"

            "Absolutely, unless you think you need to stay a bit longer?"

            "No.  Oh no.  I've had enough of hospitals."

            Dr. Brinkman frowned in puzzlement, but then said, "I'll leave you two alone now."

            "Does she have a name?" Mardi asked Bruce after the doctor was gone.

            "Dr. Brinkman?"

            "No, our daughter," Mardi groaned, with an idea she was being teased.

            "Grace Elizabeth Wayne."

            She blushed and grinned with glee.  "You named her after me," she said softly.  "Did you come up with that on your own?"

            He nodded.  "Though Isabella suggested Elizabeth, as in the queen."

            "Of course."  She pushed the sheets down and slid her legs over the side of the bed.

            "Are you sure that's such a good idea?"

            "You bet."  He held a hand out and she took it as she stood up.  With a smile she said, "See?  No problem."  Turning serious she looked him directly in the eye.  "Am I a shrew?"

            "You have your moments."

            "Meaning yes," she grumbled.

            "Meaning I wouldn't have it any other way.  What brought this about?"

            "Let's just say I had a conversation with an old friend, and it wasn't very pleasant."  She bit her lip.  "I realize I've handled things badly.  It's just not every day a man says to his wife, 'Hey I'm Batman.'  You blew my mind, but I know you weren't trying to hurt me.  I'll be better, I promise.  I'll be more helpful."

            "I don't need your help," he replied not unkindly.  "I need you to be yourself.  I need you to raise my daughters and be happy.  Is that too much to ask?"

            "No," she whispered, and then she fell forward and embraced him happily.  "Bruce?" she murmured against his chest.

            "Yes?"

            "Tell me about…Selina."

            She felt his muscles tighten beneath her cheek.  "She was a thief," he responded gravely.

            "Mmmm.  How…_normal_."  For Gotham at least.

_If I could, then I would  
I'll go wherever you will go  
Way up high or down low  
I'll go wherever you will go_

The end.


End file.
